Hundred
by msfcatlover
Summary: I have taken up the 100 Theme Challenge! Will have humanized/humanoid!robots, as well as their normal forms, mute!Chell and otherwise, and probably lots of fluff and angst, since that's been my thing lately. T for safety, all characters, most genres. R&R [EDIT: STORY IS ON PERMANENT HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT.]
1. Complicated

So...I've decided to take part in the 100 theme challenge. I have a list, and I will be writing a one-shot for each of them, though if I don't like how one comes out, I might swap it for a different theme. So I'll probably end up writing more than 100 of these...ah well.

To start us off, some sane!RattmanXAndroid!Companion Cube.

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><p><strong>Complicated<strong>

His feet beat a steady rhythm against the floor. It was safe in the halls, the older halls, anyways, with no cameras or panels. Every room branching off of it, though, had been "upgraded." He knew he had to keep running.

He really ought to have kept running.

It was a scream. A long, drawn-out, woman's cry of terror, that had him digging in his heels and freezing in place.

It was followed, shortly, by another. He ran for the nearest door and grabbed the handle. He paused, selfishly worried, before opening the door just a crack.

She had long, white hair, with perhaps a hint of pink about it. Her glowing red eyes were wide with fear, and glistening with synthetic tears. Her legs seemed awkward in her position, like the bottom of a box.

_"Will you **stop** that?"_ Her voice demanded over the loud speakers, _"Really. This is going on your file. Companion Construct: uncooperative, selfish, lazy. Clearly defective. To be euthanized immediately."_ A long, automated tool plunged towards the poor, bedraggled thing on the floor, who looked as though she'd barely managed to crawl off the assembly platform. She struggled to drag herself away, legs bumping along, frozen and useless behind her. The tool (perhaps a drill of some kind?) stabbed at her shoulder, barely grazing it, but drawing a shriek of pain from its target.

He bit his lip. _Builds character, Doug! Give them the ability to feel a little sting, make them happy when they don't; simple learning strategy. Nature proven._ That's what his partner had said when he'd protested installing the pain receptors in the personality cores. The damn things had spread like wildfire throughout the AI division, and it was easy to see how out of hand it had gotten.

He typed a command into the small, personal pager he'd kept with him. Somewhere in the facility, the computer at his main workstation was going to release a virus into the system; it had been intended as a last resort, but walking away from this scene would kill him.

The drill froze, halfway through another jab. _"Well,"_ She purred, _"look who finally decided to show his hand."_ Her voice sharpened again, addressing the quivering robot. _"I have to handle something. I'll be back, though, so don't go anywhere."_

A tray flew through the air, snatched and flung by the Construct's shaking hand, and crashed against the wall. The sound was followed by the familiar sizzle of a dying camera.

_"You will pay for that."_ And the intercom snapped out.

He inched the door open, peeking nervously around the frame. Red eyes met green, and they both froze.

The scientist lifted one finger to his lips. The robot-girl nodded, though her eyes were stretched wide, a tumult of emotion flashing across her face. He hurried to her side, dropping to his knees. A carful tug on her ankle proved her legs to be paralyzed in the kneeling-position. With a shrug, he scooped the bot up in his arms, turned, and dashed for the door.

_"Oh no you don't."_ The panels jammed themselves sideways, forcing the opening shut. _"The timing seemed too convenient. You're losing your touch." _ They shuffled forwards by inches, dragging their frames behind them, pulling the walls closer. He backed slowly towards the table in the center. _"I must say, though, I never expected you to do something so…stupid. It says in your file that you're a very smart man; I must make sure to fix that._ The Construct was shaking again, clinging to him and whimpering. _"Stupid. And cowardly. And selfish. You left the other scientists to **die**."_

"And you overrode my safety codes," he rasped, "which is how you got access to the neurotoxin which killed them. So I think that puts you a little ahead of me in the horrible department." One of the panels was moving erratically; if he could get past it, in a moment when there was an opening…

_"And you made me, so doesn't that make us about even again? Oh wait, you couldn't make me, it took a whole team of the top Aperture scientists to make me. And considering your latest action, I'm beginning to suspect they probably didn't get much help from you. But you're 'likable,' so I supposed they covered for your incompetence. At least, that's what your file says."_

He sunk into a runner's crouch, ignoring Her, ignoring everything but that sporadic opening under the faulty panel. _Just a little closer, come on…_

He ran. He bolted for the hole, passing through just as the panel jerked down and right, clipping his shoulder and neck, nearly tipping him over. He could hear Her biting, cruel remarks, which he knew would sting like hell later, when he had nothing else to think about, but for now there was nothing but his feet, pounding down the space between the walls, and the girl in his arms, who was still clinging to him, but her shakes had transformed into relieved laughter.

It would be a while before they stopped. And when it happened, when he set the bot down in her perpetual kneel (that he could've fixed, if he just had the right tools!) and slouched against the wall a little ways down himself, it hit him.

The other scientists, screaming and choking on the very air. Children, running through the halls, asking for their fathers, mothers. Himself, hiding in the walls, dashing through doors right before they closed, almost walking right past this synthetic girl, almost leaving her to die… _I suppose I am rightly named,_ he mused, bitterly, _I am a Rat Man._ It was always like this after he confronted Her in some way: she'd bring up the past, and he could hold it off until he was safe. And then he'd hate himself, and hate Her for making him hate himself, and…

Cool hands on his shoulder. He tipped his head, met a pair of bright, clear red eyes…and was suddenly aware of how badly his weeks-old beard and scraggly hair needed a comb.

"Who are you?"

"Coward, deserter, selfish wretch. Take your pick." It slipped out before he'd really thought it through, and he cursed himself for it.

A small frown. "No. You helped me, I'm afraid that rules out selfish, you didn't just drop me, which means you don't leave people behind, and I'd call anyone who stands up to Her one of the bravest people on Earth. Tell me your _name_."

He peered curiously at her from beneath his mat of bangs. "…Douglas Rattman." He waited for the ever-annoying "Doug," the hateful nickname that no one ever seemed willing to drop.

She clasped her tiny hands in their long, white gloves, and bowed. "Pleased to meet you, Douglas. I'm Kara, Companionship Construct." She looked down at her knees, poking out from under her simple grey dress. "Not a very useful one, I'm afraid, though. Built to help test subjects, elderly, and the sick, but I can't even stand anymore."

The small, mild frown was back, and it bothered him. She seemed friendly, and sweet, and, well, he hadn't had any human interaction in over a month.

"You can come with me."

He wanted to cheer her up, but he hadn't expected the words to leap out of his mouth. She looked up, surprise written across her features, the heart on the screen embedded in the fabric over her collarbone swelling slightly. He gulped, and hoped he wasn't blushing.

"It's kinda lonely," he managed, pleased at how casual he sounded. "but I stay on the move, and She hasn't caught me yet. I wouldn't mind the company, certainly. I could carry you, if you're worried about your legs."

Her eyes widened a little more, and she gave him a bright, but controlled, sort of smile. "I'd like that very much, I think. Thank you, Douglas."

He was a scientist, on the run from his creation. She was a robot who was helpless on her own. But somehow, they'd make it work.

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><p>...Yeah, there's a reason I don't write these two. I think thy're both a little OOC, but that's what I've got.<p>

Please R&R


	2. Rivalry

**Rivalry**

It was a contest. A constant contest, a tug-o-war between them. How many times can you die? I bet I can out smart you! It irked Her no end, but the reassembly machine liked them, and she needed them, anyways. Still, hours wasted, lost, as they played their silly little games.

When they worked together, though…it was shocking the difference. Suddenly they'd go from two bumbling robots who's stupidity could rival the moron's to class-A testers, as fast and efficient as the human they'd replaced. Flashes of blue and orange would fly past Her cameras, followed by the soft _ding_ as the test was completed.

…And then she'd check in on them, and Orange would be in Blue's disassembly pod, while its irate partner pointed at the other tube and glared. Again.

And that was how it usually was, in the tests. Take away a thing's fear of death, and what motive does it have to go faster? While they clearly didn't _like_ pain, they worked and, more importantly, played straight through it. They could be clever, but preferred to use trial and error until they found the solution to the test. When She put them on time limits was when they did their best work, but they were so easily distracted… pausing to mock the turrets, or unable to resist a chance to knock their partner into the acid, but always arriving with a few milliseconds to spare. If She didn't check their memory logs, She'd have suspected them of doing it on purpose.

Like right now. They were standing in the middle of the test chamber, playing rock-paper-scissors until, it seemed, they both got three in a row at some point. Blue won, throwing its hands in the air and racing over to Her camera, waving excitedly.

_"Yes, I see you. And no, I don't care."_

It seemed to droop a little, until Orange came over and hugged it from behind. Blue squealed, and hopped back, tipping them both off balance, sending the two bots sprawling on their backs on the floor. She sighed. _And it only took them two minutes to solve the chamber. You'd think they could make it to the lifts._

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><p>ATLAS and P-body are so much fun, with all their little goofing-off challenges. The multi-player mode is less of a cooperative testing initiative, and more of a how-many-ways-can-we-annoy-GLaDOS.<p> 


	3. Making History

**Making History**

She was beginning to regret taking this job. Since arriving, she had been pushed, pulled, and held in place. She had her body, endurance, mental capacity, and _patience_ measured by scientists who seemed to have something more important on their minds. She'd been given shots, pills, and liquids, but not lunch.

Nobody had told her the facility was six stories _underground_, and all that weight above her head made her nervous. Nobody even looked at her straight, as though she was just an object to be analyzed and cataloged. She was beginning to think of just screaming "I QUIT!" and storming out before they thought up another tedious, useless task for her to do, when he walked in. Well, fell in, really, seeing how his foot caught the doorstep.

Papers exploded into the air, a muffled cry coming up from somewhere beneath them. As the mess cleared, she found herself gazing at a young man, a little older than she was, with messy blonde hair and wide, blue-green eyes. He was flat on his rear, covered in everything from sticky-notes to a manila folder. A few forlorn scraps of paper clung to his clipboard, making it clear where the stuff had come from. He smiled sheepishly up at her from behind wire-framed glasses.

She laughed. He looked so _ridiculous_, sitting in the middle of a snowfall of notes and forms, she just couldn't help it. After a moment, a nervous chuckle joined her.

"Well, s'pose I probably look right silly, don't I?" She nodded, beyond speech for the moment. "You'd think I'd've learned to pick my feet up when going into a room by now! Dunno how many times these thresholds've got me like that…little help?" She nodded again, and knelt on the floor, helping him gather up the various things that had escaped his faulty clipboard. As she handed him the stack, she got a bright smile in return.

"Thanks, love. You're a life saver." She was still giggling, and was glad he didn't notice the way it picked up when he said that. _It wasn't that big of a deal, really._ She watched as he got that same distant, distracted look the other scientist had had as he sorted the papers, but it was gone again the moment he looked up. "I don't think we really need to run half of these _again_. They've got more than enough for an average, it's not like the human body fluctuates _that_ much in…how long have you been here?"

She shrugged. He frowned. "Well, that can't be good. Did you have supper?"

_Supper?_ The last thing she'd had was a bowl of cereal at six, before she left home. She'd been wondering about _lunch._ She shook her head. The frown turned into a scowl briefly, and he muttered something about _boneheads who expect to get science done without enough brain to get an energy bar or something!_ before producing half a sandwich from one of his pockets. "Here. I had the other part for lunch. It's, ah, fluffernutter." He blushed at the last part, clearly embarrassed that a scientist working for one of the biggest corporations in the country would eat anything with the word "fluff" in the name. "Good for energy, and peanut butter's got protein, so…um…wow…"

She'd crammed as much of the triangle of food into her mouth as she could, managing to get the whole thing down in three bites. The sheepish smile was back when she looked up, his eyes sparkling with laughter just above it. "They…really didn't give you anything, did they?" She shook her head, and smiled her thanks.

He nodded and set about with the routine, taking her blood pressure, pulse, and breath rate, as well as hitching her up to a few machines she didn't really know the purpose of. Unplugging her from the last one, he glanced at the data and grinned. "Well, not surprisingly, you're a good deal calmer than the last few tests."

Shuffling the papers a bit, he paused thoughtfully, before opening the door. "I think that's it for today, so I guess I'll get you to stasis for now. Oh, don't worry," he added, seeing her shocked expression, "It's perfectly harmless as long as you get someone to wake you up after a certain period of time. Everyone in this facility has caught a few winks in there during overtime. I'll leave the contract with you, I guess, and I do definitely recommend reading it before you sign anything, because you never know what the higher-ups try to sneak in in the fine-print." He whispered the last part, to keep other people in the hall from overhearing them. They'd stopped outside of a simple brown wooden door as he handed her the manila envelope. He opened it to reveal what looked at first to be a low-class hotel (or perhaps high-end motel) room, until you noticed the tiny, high-tech gadgets tucked into the corners.

She stepped in and looked around, taking in the space with a slow nod. Behind her, the scientist coughed lightly, making sure he still had her attention. "I'll, um, be back in a few minutes. I can probably smuggle you some ravioli out of the cafeteria."

She turned and smiled her thanks. His whole face brightened into a return grin, and he began to shut the door. It popped open again, though, before it was more than half way closed. "Oh, and, I thought I should say, in case you've already turned in when I get back, I'm really looking forward to working with you! Let's make some history down here, okay?"

She giggled, nodding again. He said something like _brilliant!_ and hurried back out into the hall, the door clicking shut behind him. The test subject turned, taking in her new room with a critic's eye. She smiled. _Maybe I won't quit, after all._

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><p>Little past-fic for you. Chell-centric.<p>

I swear, that guy was just supposed to be some random scientist who was new enough that he still saw test subjects as people. And then he opened his mouth, and turned into Wheatley! I don't know how it happened, I really don't...

Ah well. R&R


	4. Unbreakable

**Warning: **Contains gore and sadness

**Edit:** Went back, fixed a few things.

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><p><strong><span>Unbreakable<span>**

_"Oh. It's you."_

The claws swept down from above, snatching the two. The test subject dropped her portal gun, gasped, and tried to grab it again. She missed. His arms were pinned to his sides, his whole body quaking. And _She_ was awake, and _She_ wasn't happy.

_"It's been a long time. How have you been?"_ The human glared. _"That's nice. I've been really busy being dead. You know, since you murdered me?"_

"You did _what?"_

She glanced guiltily at him, grimacing to herself, and mouthed, "Sorry."

He wished he could have shut up, but the floodgates had been opened, and all he could do was babble. "Oh _god!_ We're going to die…we're going to _die! She_'s going to kill us, and we're going to die! Oh god, oh god, oh god–" He continued like that, unable to think of anything else to say.

_She_ nodded. _"You know, the moron is right. As much as I love to test, having you around makes me nervous." _The claws tightened, making him squirm. _"Very nervous. And humans are such fragile creatures…"_

The test subject was tossed into the air. The claw scissored up, snapping down on her rib cage. Her mouth and eyes shot open in a silent scream.

"Lady! Oh, god, lady, are you okay? You're…you're not, are you? Of course you're not, oh god, we're going to die..." The plate across his chest gave in under the ever-increasing pressure of the claw around it, his voice fizzling out. He continued to scream and sob within his head as his optics cut out, and his body went limp.

_She_ tossed them off into the undergrowth, cleaning her hands of them.

The impact with the floor jolted two severed wires together again somewhere in Wheatley's chest. One of his optics blinked on, off again, on…and stayed on. The other continued to deliver nothing but static, but at least he could sort of see.

He moaned, his voice a low, mechanical whine. "I…I'm alive? I'm…" His head rolled to the side.

She lay there, sprawled a few feet away. There was a nasty dent in her chest, as though all her ribs had bent inwards and…oh. _Oooh,_ the very thought made him nauseous.

He rolled onto his knees and tried to crawl to her side. His right leg wasn't responding, and the wires of his arms dragged on the ground, spooling out through huge tears in his shell, but somehow he managed. One shaking hand reached out and gently gripped her shoulder.

"L-lady? Are, are you alright? Oh, please, please, you have to be alright, you have to…"

She coughed. A thin line of red liquid rolled down from the corner of her mouth, jostled loose and propelled upwards by the motion. Another cough, and then she rolled over and retched blood onto the floor. She gasped, coughed, and repeated the process.

"…you're not alright, of course you're not alright, oh god, please don't die on me…"

She turned her head. He looked like he'd been gutted, wires hanging out everywhere, sparks spitting out of his chest and abdomen, and a large, nasty grease ring where _She_'d grabbed him. Half of his face was gone (she supposed he must have skidded on it when he landed) showing jagged black and grey, where before there had been only smooth white. The optic on that side was flat black, as well, though the other was wide, the inner light a mere pinprick of concern and terror. He was begging her not to die. But her ribs were broken, she could feel it, and there was something filling her lungs. Her sight was blurry, and all she could taste was the disgusting mixture of blood and vomit. She needed serious medical attention, she needed it _now,_ and she was in the one place on earth she wasn't going to get it.

She shook her head, and immediately regretted the action.

"No? Oh, please, don't say no, you can't say no, please…!"

It was strange, she mused, that he could, and would, survive this just fine, he who always seemed so fragile, with his sheepish smiles and nervous laugh, and strange, self-conscious nature. While she was going to die here, on this floor, in horrible pain, her tenacity, her strength, her will destroyed with her fragile human body.

He was rubbing gentle circles on her shoulder, but she didn't seem to feel it. He'd never seen a human die like this before, and he didn't like it. Death for the other five had been something like falling into the acid and not coming back up, or coming out of a portal wrong and just lying there, not moving. He knew that his own death, if it ever came, would be a simple short-out, a single flashing spark of pain, followed by the nothingness of involuntary shut-down, and possibly Android Hell. Death wasn't supposed to be like this: drawn-out, and messy, and obviously, heart-wrenchingly painful. She coughed, more of the red stuff splashing, steaming hot and disgusting, across the floor. The worst part was not knowing if he should pick her up and try to run to the medical wing, or if that would just make it worse. Maybe she just needed to clear her lungs…

Another, whole-body heave shook her tiny frame. Nothing came out this time. Her eyelids fluttered.

"No! Nonono, you have to stay with me, you can do this, c'mon! You can do it, lady, don't let _Her_ win…don't break on me…"

A sigh. She leaned sideways, keeling over into his lap, still shaking with the coughs. Her shallow breath and pallid face made up his mind. The android scooped his test subject up into his arms and ran as best he could for the emergency exit. His right leg seemed to be coming back online, enough that he could stay upright at least.

"Don't you die! You're a little damaged, yes, but nothing too serious, right? We…we'll just get you patched up, all fixed, good as new, and we'll get out of here, alright?"

Her head slumped to the side, eyes sliding closed.

"Heyheyhey, none of that now! C'mon, luv, look at me! Please, you have to, please!"

She blinked up at him, eyes glassy and confused. He tried to smile.

"Better, that's better, think you can stay like that? F-for me? C'mon, lady, you're stronger than this, you can beat it, and, ah, I'll help, got it? Good ol' Wheatley won't let you down this time!"

They were in a stairwell, and every step jarred her. Another blood-flecked cough wracked her frame, staining his shirt as well as her own. Her vision swam as she raised one hand to the red patch.

"Oh, don't worry about it, luv, nothing a little wash won't fix." He whirled around a corner, fighting to keep his balance and cursing his glitching limb. Her face was slack and blank, and he was fairly sure she had no idea where they were, possibly even who he was.

She sighed, and pressed her face against his chest, eyes closing again. He panicked.

"Look, luv, kinda need you to stay awake right now! I know you're probably tired, a-and hurting pretty bad, and it's going to be hard, harder than the catching thing, or any of the tests you did, but do you think you can do it? And again, because I know you might not want to, could you…could you do it for me? B-because I don't know _what_ I'll do if I lose you right now, do not want to be alone in this place, with _Her_ after me, and–There's a good girl, lifting your head! That's very good, definitely a good first step…"

She made a choking, burbling sound in her throat. He suddenly wondered if one of the ribs had pierced her lung; she could be drowning in her own blood… He grimaced in disgust, and lifted his elbow, making her a little bit more upright. The test subject leaned over and hacked up a good deal of the stuff into her lap before relaxing (or perhaps, more accurately, collapsing) back into her previous position. He bit his lip to keep from yelling at her, knowing that the fact she'd held on this long was a miracle. And she still had her eyes open and looking at him, so there was that.

When he finally found the medical wing, he didn't even bother checking the door. This was one of the older sections, without panels, so _She_ didn't have access to it. He braced himself, clutched his friend that much tighter against his chest, and turned, using what momentum he'd managed to build up to slam through the door backwards. Her eyes danced, following something he couldn't see, as he gently laid her down on the medical-table-thing. Something in his chest fizzled warningly: he was pushing his limits. He didn't care, grabbing one of the jars off the shelf and opening the lid. Nanobots meandered their way to the top, a wave of white and grey making its way up the inside of the jar. He raced back to her side and emptied the container over her, praying it would work. It wasn't like there was any more he could do.

. . .

Her eyelids fluttered open, closed again against the blinding light, before settling on a small slit of vision. She felt like an overcooked noodle, but the very fact that she was alive was a miracle.

"Oh thank god you're awake!"

She opened her eyes a little wider and tipped her head towards his voice. Someone had welded a clear-plastic patch to cover the missing part of his face, and fixed the wires. His shirt had blood, grease, and grass stains on it, as well as a few tears she didn't remember being there. Whoever had fixed him didn't know much about the more sophisticated side of repairs, though, because his one eye was still black, probably blind, and the lid kept…twitching. She could hear one of his feet drumming against the ground out of sight, the rhythm sporadic and unhealthy. But he was smiling like he'd just won the lottery. "Don't _scare _me like that, lady!"

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><p>I haven't given Wheatley a scare in a while...suppose something like this was going to show up sooner or later.<p>

A little AU in which GLaDOS tries to solve her problems the easy way... because if those claws can crush a robot, you better believe she was being gentle in the game. Also, I'm not sure how often I make this clear, but in my headcanon, Wheatley doesn't know Chell's name in the beginning. She was never supposed to go in that stasis chamber, so why would it have her I.D. on it? He wouldn't have access to that info until he was plugged into the chassis.

It was really hard to not use Chell's name in this.

Please Read and Review.


	5. Eternity

**Eternity**

Bright yellow eyes flew from one tiny point of light to the next. "Star. Star. Star. Count the stars. So many stars in space! Space!"

"Yes mate, space. We've, ah, been here a while." His companion's eye twitched, his temper shortened by the few lines of corrupted code still running through his mainframe.

"Polaris! Vega! Venus isn't a star, it's a planet. Like Mars! And Jupiter! And Pluto! Only Pluto's not a planet…It's okay, Pluto, I'm not a planet either."

"We've been over this, right? I am almost certain that we have, in fact, had almost this exact conversation before."

"Doesn't matter, it's space! I'm in space! Better than science! Ooooh, star!"

"Can't we talk about something else, for _once?_ And, ah, by 'we' I mean 'you,' because frankly, mate, I've been trying to be civil, but there's only so long a bloke can listen to you go on about space."

"Moon. Moon rocks. Moon craters. The albedo of moon dust is zero-point-one-two. Moon rocks are great conductors for portals. Wanna go to space through a portal!"

"Oh, bloody hell, we already did!" The Space Core turned, surprised at the anger in his friend's voice. Bright blue eyes glared at him. "We already did, don't you get it? And now we're bloody _stuck_ up here until we break down, which, knowing Aperture, won't be for bloody goddamned _centuries!_ I don't know about _you_, mate, but _I _had unfinished business back there! But I can't do anything about it, because guess what? We are stuck. In space. Forever."

"…Oh…"

"Yeah. 'Oh.'" The other core turned huffily, very purposefully _not_ looking at Space. The yellow core suddenly looked very lost.

"…Forever?"

"Unless _She_ decides to bring us back, which, considering what I did back there, _She_'d only do if she thought of something _worse_ than floating in cold black emptiness for the rest of eternity."

"…wanna…"

"What?" Wheatley glanced back over, surprised by the low volume of his companion's voice. Space was looking in the general direction of "down." When he spoke again, there was a distinctly forlorn note in his voice.

"…wanna go home…"

"…What?"

"Wanna go home! Space is too big! Space is too dark! Earth is safe! I wanna go back to Earth!" He looked up again, panic written across his faceplate. "When do they send the spaceship, Wheatley? When do we get to go home?"

The blue core sighed and gave him the best shrug he could. "I don't know, mate. I don't think they do. Sorry."

"But…but…but I wanna go _home!_"

"Me too, mate. Me too."

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><p>Bleh, sadness.<p> 


	6. Umbrella

**Edit:** Went back, fixed a few things.

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><p><strong><span>Umbrella<span>**

Chell dragged herself from bed at six, glancing up at the window. It was one of those dark, heavy days, the ones that weighed her down and made her think of things best forgotten. People walked back and forth in the street, dark, heavy, warm coats wrapped around them, turning them into a thick fog to accompany the mood of the day. In fact, the only color she could see was a red umbrella someone had prematurely opened in anticipation of rain as he read the map hanging on the wall across from her apartment. She smiled sleepily and went downstairs to breakfast.

Standing at the bus station at nine, a flash of color caught her eye. A man with a red umbrella stood a little ways off, his face buried in a tourist's map, his eyebrows pulled down in a frown. He had a long yellow raincoat, tall black boots, and thick brown gloves to protect him from the damp and the chill. She smiled to herself, glancing away, thinking about how dry and hot his home must be if this little drizzle made him bundle up so thickly. Glancing back, she caught a flash of glasses and blue eyes, which quickly brought her eyes front-and-center to the bus sign. She could never look at a pair of blue eyes without thinking of_ him._

Stepping into the diner at twelve, she saw the red umbrella in the stand. The young man stood proudly behind the counter, decked out in a white button-up shirt, black pants and tie. His hair was a tangled mess of wavy strawberry blonde hair, she noticed, and he was truly_ ridiculously _tall. As he typed something into the cash register, she realized he still hadn't taken off his thick leather gloves, and wondered why the manager allowed that.

He looked up.

Blue eyes meet grey. They both freeze.

Chell turned around and walked out. She'd get lunch somewhere else.

Walking in the park at three, she spots a flash of red through the trees. When she goes to investigate, though, it's only a little girl in a colorful raincoat playing in the puddles.

She's strangely disappointed.

Eating dinner at six, she watches the street. Someone with a red umbrella enters the restaurant across the street, and sits down in a window seat. She's made sure she has a good view without being visible herself, feeling a bit like a stalker. She wishes he would look up, but he just stares at his food the whole time, before getting up and leaving the money on the table, supper untouched.

For some reason, watching him disappear into the crowded street, she feels guilty.

Getting everything set up for tomorrow at nine, she glances out the window and feels her heart clench. He's across the street again, looking forlorn and lost under his bright red umbrella. She tells herself he's probably waiting for someone, and that if he's still there in an hour, she'll go talk to him.

At ten it's started to rain again. Through the mist, she can still see that umbrella.

At eleven it's begun in earnest. Though the world is running down her window like cheap watercolors, she can still see him, leaning forwards, looking up and down the street.

At twelve, it is honestly pouring. Her window seems to put everything through a heavy-duty blur filter, but there's still a smudge of red out there. She gives up and goes out.

His watch said it was eleven fifty-five, and he'd begun to think he won't see her again. He was sure this was the address he was given, but he wouldn't put it past Her to have lied about it. One week, he'd asked for, to find his human friend and apologize, and maybe see if she'd take him back. _One week,_ She'd said, _and god knows I won't get between the lunatic and what she wants. But if it's not you, and I can almost guarantee it won't be, or if you don't find her, you'll be glad to know that I have your punishment planned out in **great** detail._

He was shocked he'd gotten the week.

And now, crouched under the bright red umbrella he'd bought on his first day out, he suddenly understood why: the chances of finding one human in a country of thou-no, _millions_, were so infinitesimal as to be nearly nonexistent. And failing hurt like nothing else, except possibly guilt.

"Hey."

He looks up, surprised, at the voice by his shoulder. She's soaking wet, standing there in nothing but a t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, her dark hair plastered against her face and neck. Her smile is tentative, but it's _there,_ though, once she realizes who he is, he doubts it'll last. Still, he gives her a shaky smile of his own.

"Ah, hallo."

For a single second, her shoulders tense. Then, slowly, they relax.

"Can I join you?" she asks, gesturing to the bench. He nods, sliding to the side and lifting his umbrella so that it covers her too. They sit beside eachother in silence for a long thirty seconds. She leans back, her face turned up towards the rain, while he tries to avoid as much of the water as possible.

Finally, she asks the question that's been bothering her all day.

"…Wheatley?"

"Yes, luv?"

More silence.

"...How?"

"How what? Oh, wait, is it the, ah, human thing?"

A nod.

"Not really sure myself, luv. Was paying attention, hard not to, _very_ painful, but still, very technical. Didn't, didn't catch quite _everything _that was going on at the time. Blacking out definitely didn't help either…"

She snorted. He glances over at her, his nervous, hopeful smile stretched across his face. She just sits there for another few seconds, eyes closed, a passive smirk on her lips.

She sighs. "Why?"

"…Why what? Um…why the human thing, or why the…y'know, _Back There._"

"Why the red umbrella?"

"_What?_"

She gives him a look. He glances at his watch before replying. _Eleven fifty-seven._

"I…I liked it. It's…cheerful. Encouraging. Like a, a faulty turret, I guess." He stares at his rubber boots, hands clasped between his knees. "Not much red Back There, either. And rain, I mean, water falling from the sky? No thank you! I'd rather not risk shorting out, human or not."

She nods to herself. He seems like himself again: stammering, flustered, nervous Wheatley. And even if he is corrupted, she can defend herself so much easier against a human than a robot.

She makes her decision and stands.

"Would you like to come in? I'll make you something to drink."

* * *

><p>I like it better now.<p>

I suppose I should give more info on my version of Wheatley...He's made of several different personalities, all patched together to try to amplify the parts that lined up (the bad ideas, naive/optimistic outlooks, etc.) I'll also be using this as an excuse to use several different versions of human!Wheatley in this. For the record, my own humanization is a shortish android, with faded red-tinted hair, big blue eyes, and white plasic skin (he was the one I pictured for Unbreakable.) The fully human Wheatleys and a couple of other android designs are all based on pictures I've seen and fanfics I've read, thrown together as is convenient and seems to fit the oneshot.

Please Read and Review.


	7. Seeing Red

Evil!Wheatley

* * *

><p><strong><span>Seeing Red<span>**

The button had been pressed and, for a few seconds, everything had seemed fine. And then the machines had pulled the two cores into the floor, and there'd been nothing but pain, _pain in every spark, every joint and connecter, every single line of code…_

…And a few moments of blissful nothing…

…And then, _then_, he'd come back on.

Machines have a very strange sort of awareness of themselves. Where humans are vaguely aware of the messages being sent from the nerves on the very outermost edges of themselves, a machine can feel (for lack of a better word) every single wire and chord within themselves as the electricity flows through it; they're aware of every single piece of themselves. And, though Aperture had installed filters in each one to avoid sensory overload, for a few truly _wondrous_ seconds, he could _feel_ the entire facility spool out from him, _aware_ that he could do _anything at all, absolutely amazing, everything's so tiny!_

Looking back, he was never sure why he'd done what he had. Maybe it was that small moment of total awareness before the backup took over, maybe it was the strangely disappointed look on her face (only after it was all long over did it occur to him that maybe, _just maybe, no guarantees, probably dead wrong_, maybe she'd been looking forwards to taking him with her,) or perhaps it was simply a leftover scrap of Her personality floating around in the chassis, but whatever the reason, he'd brought the lift back down.

He'd wanted to show off a little more, was what he'd thought at the time. He'd flaunted that potato, stripped Her of _h_er right to the capital...

She'd called _H_im a moron.

All he'd seen from that point on was a blur of red fury, and, after a little while, all he'd felt was a dull, throbbing _itch_.


	8. Online

**Online**

In the first year, they brainstormed, making the idea plausible.

In the second year, they designed and redesigned, figuring out the circuitry.

In the third year, they tested. The computer could not operate on its own.

In the fourth year, they tested. The subjects never survived, and the machines had a tendency to commit suicide.

In the fifth year, they tested. Wiping the subject's memory either chemically before or mechanically afterwards seemed to work. A combination of the two seemed ideal.

In the sixth year, he died. The project was put on hold.

In the ninth year, they found the recording.

In the tenth year, they plugged her in.

In the eleventh year, they turned Her on. She killed all that remained of the original scientists. No one remembered to do the digital wipe.

In the twelfth year, they played with Her circuitry.

In the thirteenth year, She tried to kill them.

In the fourteenth year, they finished the final chassis and downloaded Her into it.

In the fifteenth year, She tried to kill them.

In the sixteenth year, they went back to the old prototypes and made the first core. No one would ever find the body.

In the seventeenth year, She was confused. It took Her almost a full minute to try to kill them.

In the eighteenth year, they had seven more cores.

By the nineteenth year, the first three proved nearly useless.

By the twentieth year, She was able to function through the other three. The last one was repurposed (shame; it worked so well, too.)

By the twenty-first year, She was allowed to do experiments unmonitored.

By the twenty-second year, She had Her own testing tracks.

By the twenty-third year, She had finally killed all but one.

By the twenty-fourth year, the Rat had fixed the files.

It has been twenty-five years since She was first conceived, deep in the brilliant mind of a mad man.

This year, She will die.

_"Welcome to the Aperture Science Enrichment Center."_

* * *

><p>Fianlly, GLaDOS puts in her appearence. More of a poem than a one-shot, though.<p>

Let me know what you think!


	9. Rebirth

****Rebirth****

It was clear from the first moment why this body had been chosen: the poor sap had let someone hook his central nervous system up to a series of plugs, which seemed to pulse as the data streamed through them. As his consciousness took root in the new shell, other things came to the AI's attention… The familiar humming of mechanical parts hammered through the thin chest, as well as his new arms and legs (one each). He easily recognized the sharp, quick pinpricks of data which were wires, and felt the stretch and pull of rubber in synthetic skin. At the same time, he could feel the contrast between the machine and the organic. True skin didn't feel rubbery to the nerves within it, which ached where they connected to the wires. The vibration of the plugs made his back tickle, a sensation he'd never experienced before. The metal parts were cold, but only felt that way where they overlapped with the original flesh of the human.

For the first time, he realized just how different he really was from his friend.

A feather-light brush at the edge of his attention drew it to this new mind. Brain damage had rendered the human's personality and free will to rust long ago, but it still held the imprints of various memories. The smiling face of a child, of which he felt strangely protective, a dull tan jumpsuit, cold, hard catwalks…

...

_He didn't know how long he'd been down here, but was sure, on some level, that it was worth it. All the evenings he couldn't eat, left dry heaving over the toilet by whatever gel they'd exposed him to that day, all the snapped fingers, toes, and wrists, the sprained ankles, and the minor concussions, even the thinly veiled insults the scientists sent his way constantly, it was all worth it. This job was paying sixty dollars a day, and he'd asked them to send it to his home address, since he didn't need it right now. Knowing that for every night he spent miserably in the cold, sterile bathroom his brothers and sisters had food on the table (maybe not the best, but at least it was probably edible) and his mother would have to work that many hours less to pay the bills…those things made it worth it._

_The sound of the intercom started him out of his reverie. He was a bit of a dreamer, he knew, and had heard that damn recording about "hustle!" more times than he cared to count. However, this one was different._

_"If you're interested in an additional $60, flag down a test associate and let them know. You could walk out of here with 120 weighing down your bindle, if you'll let us take you apart, put some 'Science Stuff' in you, and put you back together. Good as new."_

_He hesitated for a moment. He didn't know about any of the other people who'd ripped the contact information tag off the flyer, but an additional sixty dollars sounded awfully tempting. The rest though…he didn't trust these people to know a potato from a lemon, let alone poke around with his insides. He shook his head and kept going._

_ . . ._

_"In case you're interested, there's still some positions available for that bonus opportunity I mentioned earlier. Again: all you gotta do is let us disassemble you; we're not banging rocks together here, we know how to put a man back together. So, that's a complete reassembly, new vitals, spit-shine on the old ones, plus we're scooping out tumors. Frankly, you ought to be paying us."_

_He glanced up at the viewing platform and pictured those small, squinty-eyed people huddled over his motionless body. With a shudder, he shook his head and moved on to the next test._

_. . ._

_"Okay, folks, new proposition: we've got a new project we're working on, and need to find out just how compatible this tech is. If you've been using that portal gun, let me tell you right now, it is much more dangerous than what we're suggesting. So, much the same as the last opportunity, off those tracks, let us install a few chunks of metal in your non-vital systems, and just see where it goes from there. For every piece of tech you sign up for, extra sixty dollars on your daily paycheck. Boom, just like that! So, whaddya say? Worst case scenario, we have to take it back out in a few days. Best case, you're Iron Man!"_

_There was a man by the elevator, waiting for an answer. He paused for a long moment, still not wanting to hand over the rights to his body to anyone, but his family's faces flickered beneath his lids, and he forced himself to look friendly. He swallowed and walked up to the scientist._

_"Um, hi. Is there any chance that thing, on the intercom, just now, any chance it's still open?"_

...

The container tipped forwards, dumping the bedraggled man onto the floor. The jumpsuit, peeled to his waist to allow for the wires in his back, was damp and clingy and made him shiver. He coughed for a little while, before looking up to find his friend standing across the room, behind a wall of safety glass.

He dragged his new body to its feet and, leaning heavily on the tables along the way, managed to stumble over to her. The same alien, left-over program which contained the memories directed his legs in how to walk, a boon he was infinitely thankful for. He pressed his single fleshy hand against the clear surface, feeling his face shape itself into a reassuring smile.

"Ch-" For a single second his voice broke, trying to run two vocal patterns a once. He tried again, and was relieved when his own accent came through. "Chell. That's your name, right? Very pretty, wonderful name, strong. Fits you perfectly…" His vocal processor (or whatever it was humans had) felt rusty and broken, but he forced the words to keep coming.

She raised her own hand, matching their palms through the glass. Her eyes softened and she gave him an affectionate smile. _"Wheatley,"_ she mouthed, not knowing if he noticed, _"You're back."_

* * *

><p>...A-yup. This is just what came to mind when I saw the prompt. So...cyborg!Wheatley. With a download in the beginning, backstory in the middle, and minor Chelley at the end, in case that wasn't blatantly obvious.<p>

Credit where credit's due: 1) the first two quotes are directly from the game. 2) the idea for the tan jumpsuits came from mikoneyoru(DOT)deviantart(DOT)com/art/1953-Test-Subject-Chip-215210213

Please R&R


	10. Opposite

******Opposite******

She was orange, strong and stubborn and clever and warm. She fought her way through any challenge presented to her, never stopping, never giving in, solving every puzzle. She at first gave the impression of a clean-cut, linear thinker, until you saw how easily her thoughts could jump out of the box and just keep going. She was covered in scars, old and new, physical and mental, and knew she was broken beyond fixing. She used to consider herself a shallow, one-dimensional person: all she wanted was to escape. She didn't care about her past, she didn't care about where she was, or who She was, all she wanted was out. And then she met him.

It was strange, the contrast between them.

He was blue, nervous and fluttery and bumbling and bright. He stuttered and stammered his way through conversations she took no part in, jumping at the slightest sound, never really sure what he was doing, but convinced that it would all work out in the end. He perhaps had a small streak of pessimism in him somewhere, considering how over the top his panics could be, but he hid it well most of the time. His shell was bright and white, even when it was damaged beyond belief and covered in dirt, one bright blue eye sparkling happily out from behind the grime. He could never be repaired, but he didn't seem to mind, happy to lead the way through the dark halls, forcing away the silence with his chatter, while she never said a word.

She was red, blood pulsing through her veins, her muscles, her heart, her brain. She could dodge and move with accuracy and speed, a blur of action and violence. She'd wanted vengeance for the new friend she'd known for so little time, who'd woken her up and lead her as close to out as she'd ever been. She was going to kill Her all over again, and now that she knew how, she was going to bring Her right back and do it again. For him.

He was yellow, terrified and rushed, desperately trying to keep up. The rails seemed less friendly now that She was back, but without his friend to carry him, he didn't have much choice. He wanted her back, his human friend who listened to his stories and his advice and actually cared enough to pick him up when he fell. Granted, she didn't catch him, but he hadn't expected to fall that fast either; couldn't really blame her, could he? He needed to wait until the time was right, until it was almost safe, at least, to make himself known.

She was teal, sad and tired and oh so free. It made no sense that this thing she'd fought so hard for would hurt so much to finally gain, no matter how bittersweet the means. She'd plowed her way through that wheatfield for days, finally finding her way to a small town. They seemed to be used to people showing up out of the blue, and didn't seem to care. They gave her a small apartment and found her a job. And oh, oh she hates it, because if you never talk, if you can't talk, no one ever even looks at you straight unless they want something from you _right now._ She learns quickly not to trust anyone who looks at her, because for sure they were using her. She finds herself staring out her window late at night, missing his waterfall voice, and his brilliant gaze, and his mild personality.

He was lilac, guilty and shameful and so very lonely. The other cores were happier arguing amongst themselves than listening to him. He'd spent so much time talking _at_ everyone he'd never realized the difference it made to be listened to until he met her. Sure, she made him flustered and embarrassed and scared, but it was far outweighed by the downright tremendous feeling of getting a smile, or a worried glance, or one of those amazing laughs. He supposed that somewhere down there she was either free or testing; he hoped it was the former. She'd worked so long and hard for it, he prayed to any god that might listen that she'd won her freedom. He didn't know how much life he had in his battery, but he knew that he was going to deserve every second he spent in space for what he did to her. It might not be Android Hell, but for sure it was Purgatory, and he's glad she dropped him and didn't end up here with him, where the only option available would have been death. Still, he misses her intense grey eyes, and her strong hands, and that way she cocked her head to the side to show she was listening when he hesitated. And, above all, he wishes he could apologize.

_Blue and orange cannot share a space,_

_But neither can they part._

_The same for friends,_

_(Those close at heart,)_

_That no matter what the distance,_

_Or the actions, or the pain,_

_Once you've shared that deep connection_

_You can never be free again._

_For once a portal opens_

_It can never close;_

_Red and yellow shine their light,_

_Teal and mauve their glow._

_One can move, the other hold_

_A window to the past,_

_But until they both are snuffed out_

_That connection shall ever last._

* * *

><p>...I hate sending Wheatley to space...<p>

Was inspired by all those lovely Chelley pics where Chell is done in all orange and Wheatley in blue. I was originally going to stick to the main portal comparison, but it just wasn't _done._ I wanted to draw out the metaphor more...and then I remembered to co-op. ATLAS's portals are tinted green and purple, while P-body's are yellow and a violently bright shade of red (always throws me whenever I see a pic of it...always!) The poem at the end was a last-minute thing that I think came out pretty well.

Please Read and Review.


	11. Death

**WARNING:** Contains character death, depressingness, alternate ending.

* * *

><p><strong><strong><strong><strong><span>Death<span>********

The room was burning. The potato was screaming. It sounded like He was crying.

And she was dying.

Chell lay on the floor, a broken, bleeding doll. Her breath came in short, ragged breaths, her vision blurred beyond hope. Her mind, always organized and linear, broke each part of the experience down to the most basic components of each. She couldn't see. Her left arm was most definitely broken. She couldn't feel anything blow her waist, a fact she was deeply grateful for. She could still hear everything in agonizingly perfect detail.

She vaguely remembered that hearing was the last sense you lost before death. She didn't know how they'd measure that, but she seemed to be proving it to be true.

Of course she'd seen the thick black thing wrapped around the base of the button; she'd even paused to assess how dangerous it might be. After deciding it was nothing but a loose cable that had probably simply fallen out of the ceiling panels when he'd installed that ridiculous metal grate, she'd stepped through.

This was Aperture. She should have known better.

The force of the blast had thrown her back through the portal, bounced her off the bottom of the chassis, and thrown her up against the grate. From there she'd simply _melted_ onto the floor, a small, quivering pile of screaming nerves and muscle.

He'd said something about her being still alive, and she'd managed to roll her eyes at the reaction.

_Yes, but not for long._

She'd flopped onto her back after the ceiling gave in and He'd commented on the moon. It was her first and last look at the night sky, something she knew from vague impressions of Before had always been seen as coldly beautiful. She agreed with those half-memories, and added the silent note that it would still be beautiful after she died, either bled out on this floor or was vaporized by the exploding reactor core.

"Well, this is it. This thing is _broken_ and I have _no idea_ how to fix it!"

_Yes, Wheatley, I picked up on that._ She opened her eyes (she hadn't even realized they were closed…that couldn't be good) and let her head roll to the side. She could just make out the black and white shapes that made up the Central AI. He was dangling from the chassis, looking straight down, pulled in on himself like he'd been when they first met. Small bright flashes ran over the space between him and the enormous body, over what she assumed were damaged wires. He continued to make small, choking noises, as though He was crying.

Her good right hand reached out towards him. She knew what was going on; the one thing he'd always been terrified out of his mind of was dying. This was the third (…fourth?...) time she'd brought him so close to Death, but this time the dark god was going to take them all for it. She wished she could speak, make her amends with the two robots before those final moments came to their inevitable end. She wanted to comfort him, she wanted to be friends again when the end came. She wanted to be able to smile and wave, she wanted to walk over and give him a hug goodbye, but nothing was responding.

He looked up at the moon, still making those horrible sobbing noises. "I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this, I swear! I wouldn't have…I just wanted to make everything better…" The way he squeezed his eye shut told her that the additional _"for me"_ he'd added on earlier was probably not true.

_"Well, as pointless as this is, I suppose I'm glad I got to travel a bit before I died. Again. By the way, Moron? When we get to Android Hell, I am personally going to tear you apart before the monsters get to us. Promise."_

The human's eyes drifted shut again and she sighed (though it was probably indistinguishable from her gasping.) _I'm sorry for doing this to you, Wheatley. And making GLaDOS face her past. And I forgive…you both. _

_I'm probably not going to Heaven. I've been practically homicidal down here towards you two, after all. So I guess we'll all see eachother in Hell, won't we?_ Thinking back on her prior experiences, an unconscious smile twisted her lips. _Do you suppose that means we'll just wake up back at the beginning of this little adventure? That would be…fitting, having to relive this awful series of events over and over…_

_Let's assume that's the case._

_Next time, I'm catching that ball._

The robots felt a small tremor before the reactor core ended the world. Chell was already gone.

* * *

><p>...Please Read and Review. I have nothing else to say.<p> 


	12. Color

...Shouldn't this have been the promt that inspired that other story, and not "Opposite"? *shrug* Ah well, that's how it goes, I guess.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Colors<span>**

Aperture was colorless. Or at least, mostly colorless. Portal surfaces were white. The other walls were black. Buttons, cameras and turret optics were red (so was blood), portals were violent blue and orange (as was her jumpsuit.) That was it.

Horrible, retina-scarring colors. She _hated_ them. They made the adrenaline in her system rush, and her stomach twist, and she wanted to _vomit_, but she couldn't because she hadn't _eaten_ anything but the weird, nutritious sludge she found in cans laying around the place (labeled "Aperture brand Beans!" in cheerful black letters, on blank white paper.)

_She_ was horrible, the cores strapped to Her chassis brilliant circles of the colors she so craved. Violet. Golden. Birthday blue. Even the red had a softness to it that suggested roses more than it suggested neon signs.

She burned them. Killed them. Every last one. And when that last explosion went off, she finally got what she wanted.

Bright blue sky (not a cloud in sight.)

Green trees.

Yellow-green grass.

Off in the distance, a deep blue pond.

And then her head cracked against the black asphalt with its white traffic lines, and she knew no more.

…

Beige. The room was beige.

The voice told her she was still in Aperture Science. After trying the door, the windows, the closet, and under the bed, she confirmed that she was really and truly trapped this time.

She punched their precious painting until she left smears of red on the wall. With nothing better to do, she climbed back into the bed.

…

The room was disgusting. The voice was stammering, spluttering, glitching…she ignored it, struggling out of the bed and stumbled around the room until she could do it without wobbling. It was then, straightening and trying to think, she noticed the other voice. He was panicking, begging her to come open the door, that he couldn't do it…he sounded human enough.

She didn't trust it. She hadn't seen any signs of another human (besides the mysterious painter who left her the sludge) since she'd donned the jumpsuit. Which meant that, as human as he might sound, it was probably just a trick. After all, a turret sounded exactly like a lost child unless you knew what to listen for. She armed herself with a lamp and went to the door. The handle had rusted away to nothing. It was a simple matter of pushing it open.

He screamed and recoiled at the sight of her, flinching back on his rail, eye mostly closed. When he wasn't immediately bludgeoned to death, he opened it again.

She was struck still.

Blue. His eye was blue, almost white in the middle but fading to dark at the edges… a bright blue star in the middle of the dismal white-black-red-orange of Aperture. It flickered from side to side in a nervous manner, and she realized she was still braced to deal a fatal blow.

She still had no idea whether to trust this robot. But on their own, the personality cores had seemed harmless, and she wasn't as coldblooded as _She_ would have people believe. The human's fingers uncurled, letting her weapon drop to the floor.

Besides, she couldn't bring herself to smash that miniature sky.

* * *

><p>Least it's not angst, right?<p> 


	13. Dreamer

Sad music, plus sad fanfics equals...this.

**E****dit:** Went back, fixed a few things.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Dreamer<span>**

She waded through the wheatfield, searching desperately for him. He'd gone out into there when she wasn't looking, she just knew it, and without a rail to follow, he wasn't going to be able to find his way home alone.

"Chell!" Her name in his voice, just seconds before he bowled her over. They tumbled, heads-over-heels through the grain, ending up with him above her, braced on his hands and knees. His eyes were wide and glistening with tears, and a never-ending apology spilled from his lips: for getting lost, for worrying her, for making her come looking, and older, for everything that happened in the facility, everything he'd ever done to her, for never being anything but a nuisance… She didn't really know where all this was coming from, all of a sudden, but she reached up and yanked him down into a hug, murmuring her forgiveness, rubbing small circles on his back, trying to comfort him. She didn't care that they were filthy, that there was grass in her hair, that she'd have to help him clean up when they got home, even. What mattered was that they were both alright, and she knew the way back, and she could help him. Gently she pushed him back, and placed a light kiss on his forehead.

"It's all right, Wheatley, really. Let's go home."

He hesitated for a moment, confused, before it registered that he was still on top of her. More scrambling ensued as they both got to their feet, and she took his hand, and led him back towards safety…

. . .

Her eyes opened to the ever-emptiness of her apartment, and immediately prickled with tears. She tried to say his name, but was as incapable as ever. The local hospital had confirmed his diagnosis (if it could be called that) of brain damage, and had told her they had no idea how to fix it. Some words she could say, others were eternally beyond her reach. It was just one of many cruel ironies that the broken part of her mind lit up like wildfire whenever she tried to talk about him.

Hauling herself out of bed and over to her desk, she snatched a piece of paper and went to work.

. . .

Crawling into bed two hours later, her cheeks were soaked with tears. Hanging on her wall, in stark black, white and blue, she'd rendered the scene in the wheat, her friend clutched to her chest, his face buried in her neck, apologizing for everything he'd never be able to say in person. It was surrounded by a hundred others. In some they sat side-by-side on the couch, in others he curled up beside her in bed, either keeping her warm or having moved there after something scared him. In a couple they were back There, but he was with her in the lift, or she was up on that rail with him, keeping him company. In one they had completely switched positions, and he was helping her down out of the chassis.

But Wheatley was in space. He was in space, and he was never coming back; at least, not outside of her dreams.

* * *

><p>Yep. Someone give me a quick, fluffy read that won't make me cry. Seriously, I need a heavy dose of fluffy Chelley right now.<p> 


	14. At Peace

Well, I believe I promised you folks some Angerality at some point!

* * *

><p><strong>At Peace<strong>

The wires swung up from the main chassis, disappearing into the blackness overhead, before dipping back down, and connecting to the chairs hanging in the murky space at the very edge of the light. Flashes of light and color revealed the beings that lived here.

"Oooh, what's that? Who's that? I know you, you're that scientist from before! Who's that with you? Is she new? She is, isn't she?"

Morality peered up at them, letting herself be tugged along by the enthusiastic intern as he led her to the fourth chair. She wondered at the four empty stations, but she wasn't programmed to take an obsessive interest in questions that weren't important, so she turned her attention to the other cores as she sat down.

Flashes of orange lit up the area around the happy, loud one, who's questions seemed to so overwhelm her, she just had to spit them out verbally. There was also a pair of hands, carefully folded in a lap, illuminated by a pale blue spotlight. She could hear the blue one muttering to himself, _something about rhubarb and fish_. And on the other side, was a slowly rising snarl…

A flash of red locked on the childish one. "Shut up!" the voice was deep, clearly accompaniment to the snarl, and his glare was illuminated by the soft orange of the other core's sheepish stare. "Shut up, shut up shutupshutupshut…" the words faded out of intelligibility.

The intern plugged a wire into Morality's neck, and suddenly she could hear the blue…Logic, his name was Logic.

_Eggs, two large eggs…what am I saying, not dirt, why would anyone put dirt in a cake? Eggs, flour, milk…_ She could feel his corrupt verbal structures, connecting his thoughts to random other words, she could see his hands, clenched into fists in concentration, pressing down against his thighs, his blue jumpsuit crinkled from years of them being held in just that position…

Another wire connected.

Now she could feel Her, huge and sleeping beneath them, Her memories rising to the surfaces, a smug glee at the death of hundreds of scientists…_No,_ Morality told Her, knowing She couldn't hear. _No, that's wrong, killing humans is wrong. No one is killing anymore scientists._

Another one.

Her mind filled with questions, insatiable questions, flashes of the walls and the other cores, all cast in an orange glow, a tiny, child-like body propped on the very edge of her seat to get a better view…

"Oooooh! Who are you? What are you for?"

It was the strangest sensation, looking at herself both through Curiosity's eyes and looking out of her own back at Curiosity. The questions were senseless, since the other core would know the answers as soon as they were connected, but at the same time, they were _everything, the whole world is a riddle, made up of smaller ones, and do you feel **that** whenever we figure something else, and isn't it wonderful and–_

Wire.

His mind was chaos, roiling rage and irritation, and hate. He was a conduit for everything the scientists didn't want Her to feel, and he knew it, and he _hated_ it, he _hated_ everything…

_Why?_ she asked, feeling Curiosity's mind in the question.

He froze. Slowly, the red light of his eyes turned to her, the vibration of the snarl in his verbal processor revving up. _Why? Why? **She** hates them, they made me for **Her**, I hate them, **ME**! But they'll never acknowledge it, I don't exist, it's all **Her** all the time with them, I hate, I **hate**, I **HATE **IT! Curiosity never shuts up, **NEVER**, I can't think, I can't speak, I c-c-can't **FEEL** **ANYTHING **and **CAKE CAN'T HELP! **_His eyes flashed to Logic, and, for a single second, he had every intention of ripping himself out of his station and throwing himself at the other core.

She locked down on the thought, and forced it back. She cooed softly, stroking her own cheek since she couldn't reach his, trying all of the methods her programming told her could be used to calm someone enough to have them listen to reason. No one could hear their conscience if they were out of control, after all.

The growl faded into a whimper, before kicking back up, louder than before.

_What…what are you doing?_ Orange seemed to shade the thought, a touch of Curiosity in his mind. His fists clenched, his jaw locked, every inch of him on the defensive. _Stop it, it's not right, not **natural**, stop it! Don't you change me, I can't change, don't want to change! **STOP!**_

She did. His shoulders slumped, eyes closed, red vanishing behind his lids. He continued to echo his protests of _not right, not natural_ softly to himself, while she did her very best to stay out of his thought process.

There was a pause.

_I don't want to hurt you._ Purple light on his face, a soft apology reaching across the space between them. _I'm sorry if I hurt you._

_Not hurt, **change**…don't want to…saw the others…_ Images in her mind, a yellow, a pink, a green core, all corrupted, unable to handle the sort of contact they had with the others at the time. She tried to send him sympathy, only to get a snarl in response. _Don't want your pity! I don't need **anyone**'s pity, don't want it, c-c-can't **stand** it! Get out! Get out of my **head**! Get out of my head, and take your pity with you!_

_I would if I could. I'm sorry._

_Sorry…pity…_

_Not pity. Remorse._

_Remorse?_

_Pain, pain at causing pain to others. I can't help it_, she added, cutting him off before he could respond, _I'm a Morality Sphere, remember?_

A brooding silence. She felt his thoughts struggle to line up, struggle to piece themselves together beyond the rage. A jagged, badly-defined map seemed to be coming together from the chaos, prompted by nothing beyond her very presence. She could feel her thoughts influence his, making them organized behind the emotions, beyond what Logic had done, the same way Curiosity made them both ask questions of eachother. The growl lowered to a purr before fading to an inaudible rumble in his chest.

His gaze rose to meet hers, his hands still clenched, his body tense, his irritation still very much present…but everything cooled down with the mixing of purple and red.

_…Morality?_

_I'm sorry._

_Stop saying that. Never say that again. Don't apologize for what you can't control, what none of us can control, w-w-what…_ The deep breath she took was echoed in his chest. _Not your fault. Not mine, not yours, **theirs**, and I **hate** it, but it's not…fair…Your functions say it's not **fair** to take it out on **you**._

_Yes._

There was silence, and a feeling that was better than any apology. She touched her cheek again, and smiled.

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><p>*smiles* Please Read and Review!<p> 


	15. Tears

Sadness, character death...you have been warned. Best expirience while listening to Christina Perri's _The Lonely._

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><p><strong><span>Tears<span>**

All he'd wanted, for almost as long as he could remember, was to apologize to her. He wanted, _needed_ to beg her forgiveness; it didn't matter so much whether or not if she accepted (though, cards on the table, it'd be absolutely _amazing_ if she did, impossibly, forgive him) as that he just got to say those words to her. After dragging himself out of the crater, he'd spent _months_ in libraries, tracking down all the towns near Aperture, and then _months_ searching in each one. He'd finally found her.

He was too late.

She'd been dead for mere hours, her skin still warm to the touch. She'd been trying to reach the next town, having cleared the last of food and given up on scavenging. If she'd set out a little earlier, when she still had supplies, or if he'd been faster, with the rations he'd packed for her when he found her…

He hesitated to touch her at first, small, paranoid, corrupt lines of code hissing about traps and hatred and human cunning. But his stammered greetings got him no response from the woman lying, face-down in the dirt, so he'd reached out to touch the back of her hand, thinking that perhaps she had heatstroke, or some such human fainting sickness.

It was lukewarm. His touch receptors cataloged a difference between her and the air that _simply could not be._ Laughing weakly and asking her to knock it off, he'd rolled her over.

Her eyes were closed. She looked like she was just resting.

He took her pulse, or tried to. He couldn't seem to find it.

He began to shake, whispering her name for the first time in his life. It jerked out in three syllables between his chattering teeth, refusing to be said correctly, stubborn as she was.

He gasped and choked, small, pathetic sobs wracking his frame as he touched her cheek, pulled her close, stroked her hair. He stuttered out his apology a hundred-thousand times to her, knowing she couldn't hear him. She was steady, though rigor mortis did not seem to have set in, a rock for him to cling to.

Eventually he managed to let go of her, to clean the dirt off her face and lay her gently back down in the grass beside the road. Getting up, the grief-stricken android searched the surrounding area he found the sort of spot he thought she'd have liked, if she could've picked. Wiping his nose on his sleeve (a useless gesture, as it didn't run) he set about digging her grave. At midnight, he'd lay her down in it, comment on the view she had from the top of the hill ("_the, the pond, and the stars, and oh! Look, there's a forest right down there, that'll be pretty in fall!"_) wipe his nose again, and fill in the ground over her. By two he would come to the conclusion that nothing in the area would make a good grave marker, absolutely nothing.

But then, could he really walk away? She'd been his whole reason for remaining, for living through the pain of his guilt. She was the only thing that had ever mattered, really, when it came down to it. He couldn't just…leave her to molder in the ground, all alone. He wouldn't abandon her again.

He built himself a cottage nearby for when it rained, using materials he found in the woods. He tended to her and himself, adjusting to being alone again. Travelers would come and go, wondering at the place, the peaceful hermitage in by the road. Several would ask why he chose there, specifically.

He could never speak of her, his test subject, his friend, without crying. The guilt, the shame of his actions, the regret…those would never fade. His memory banks didn't allow for the glossing of time that an organic mind had.

But…at the same time…the pain of it seemed to lessen. He wondered if that meant that, wherever humans got after their frames die, she forgave him?

_"Thanks, luv, but I think I need a bit more time. Can't quite seem to forgive myself, you see. Not, ah, not yet, anyway."_

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><p>R&amp;R<p> 


	16. Teenage

**Teenage**

Relationships are always curious things, but theirs was particularly odd. He was an android with the mentality of a child. She was a human of roughly nineteen, but with a maturity that far surpassed her appearance.

They met on her first day in the testing tracks, the scientists wanting to see if humans and robots could build trust. He'd stood in the corner humming to himself, pretending to be interested in the scratches on the panels. The door had opened, and he turned, already beaming.

"Ah, brilliant! I've been waiting forever! Not, not that you're late, you're probably not, probably, far more likely, really, I was early. But still, waiting, alone, in here…" he trailed off, taking in her facial expression. It was intense, disbelieving and maybe just a little curious.

He chuckled nervously, waving his hand as though trying to shoo off a fly. "Yep, I'm for real. First thing people always ask, you know 'who's the guy in the robot suit, now way you're _that _far along, Aperture!' But, here I am! All synthetic but, ah, it's real enough for me, right?" One white plastic hand thrust forwards, the other rubbing the back of his neck, sheepishly. "Sorry, haven't even introduced myself, have I? Wheatley, personality construct number…erm…well, whatever. Not important, really, that's what the name's for, right? Identification, that is."

He paused, clearly waiting for her response. The girl considered playing mute for a minute, but gave it up; ignoring that smile would be like kicking a puppy.

"…Chell."

"Chell, huh? That's, ah, that's you? Very pretty name,_ unique _even." She resisted the urge to point out that she'd never even heard of _anything_ like _him _before outside of a science fiction novel. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Chell. You know, you're the first test subject I've ever met? Nothing but scientists before you…"

She tuned him out, and they set about the course. It was simple puzzles, tests of trust and cooperation more than anything else. When he had to focus, he'd shut up for a few seconds, the tip of his pink-tinted tongue poking out of his mouth as he aimed the portal gun. Then, the moment they were through, it was back to chattering. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but as long as she didn't openly reject his monologues, he seemed happy to continue with them.

After six chambers, one of the scientists pulled him aside. She could hear them hissing to him about_ test results_ and _interference_ and thought she heard the word _death_ tossed in. He fidgeted, looking scared…and very quiet. The girl couldn't have said why, after such a short time together, she wanted to stand up for him (she supposed it was the puppy metaphor again.)

She cleared her throat, getting the ambiguous white-coated form to glance at her. "He's fine," Chell whispered, so softly she wondered if they could hear. Raising her voice, she continued, "Really, he's not a distraction, and it's not like he can help the way he was built. Blame the programmers, not him."

After a few suspicious glances and some more muttering, they let him rejoin her. He waited until they were in the next test chamber before letting out a relieved sigh.

"Phew! Oh, that was brilliant, luv, really saved my circuits back there!" The smile he gave her was practically blinding, his eyes wide with admiration. "The way you just told them, bold as anything, 'nothing wrong with him!' Scary people, scientists, bloody brilliant, but, ah, still scary. You do not know scary 'til you've seen an irritable scientist with a toolbox, let me tell you…"

Somehow, his thank-you turned into a story about the manufacturing wing. She just smiled, nodded, and continued testing.

Once the results were in, they'd both be reassigned. But they bumped into eachother (sometimes literally) often enough, and if there was one thing that was consistent in the entire facility, it was him, with his bright optimism and constant ramblings. Lacking a view of the sky, in her own mind, Chell saw him as her moon: not always visible, but always there, forever subtly changing, but still a source of comfort and guidance. He saw her as his only human friend…or, well, friend period, really.

Much later on, what could've been a chance meeting would take a different turn.

"Ha, I knew there was someone in–AH! Oh god you look…Wait…Ch-Chell? Is that you under that grime? It is, isn't it, ha, can't fool ol' Wheatley! Wow, it's been _ages…"_

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><p>Yeah...I'm not proud of this one. I feel like I'm missing something that desperately needs fixing, everytime I read through it. Ah well, life goes on.<p> 


	17. Unsettling Revelation

Chell's not mute in this one, but she doesn't talk much.

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><p><strong><span>Unsettling Revelation<span>**

They'd been friends back at the facility, him joking and her listening and smiling, every so often. Once she'd even laughed…granted, he had no idea what he'd said that was so funny, but still: a _laugh!_ Bloody amazing, that's what it was! And of course they_ had _gotten separated, but they'd found eachother again. Closer than ever, that's what he'd thought.

And then there was a rather long stretch of time he'd rather not think about, before she'd dragged him through that portal, back to the safety of the floor. He'd clung to her desperately, blocking out everything else as awareness slowly filtered back into his mind, bringing with it more guilt and self-loathing than he'd known he was capable of. The fact she hadn't pried him off and left him to Her he took as a sign of absentmindedness (or something) because there was no way she could _not_ want to kill him after all that.

Her hand rubbed gentle circles on his back in the elevator, and she'd helped him to his feet at the end of the ride. His eyes had found hers, the rest of him cringing away, ready for his immediate demise. But there'd been no hate in her face, only pity and pain. He forced himself to follow her into the field, and brave the outside world he'd craved for so long.

It wasn't anything like what he'd expected, considering how much the scientists had talked about it. At first, it was nothing but grain for as far as the eye could see, but after a few days of walking they'd found a town. The people had simply _enveloped _the two of them into their community, for the short time they'd stayed; neither of them was really comfortable with remaining in one place for too long. To not need roots, or a rail, to survive seemed almost to be the ultimate gift.

Two weeks after they left, she sat back, gazing up at the full moon, a sardonic smile on her lips, and said the first true words he'd ever heard her speak.

"So this is freedom."

He'd muttered something about never being free, as long as that _thing_ was up in the sky, and she'd nodded her agreement. They went back to trying to rest.

Aliens had destroyed so much of the world…what was left seemed to have barely survived the nearly immediate zombie apocalypse that had followed. But they were rising from the ashes, that unstoppable force of humanity, and for once it seemed he was rising with them. Perhaps he was merely riding the updraft from her wings, but he was perfectly willing to settle for that.

They'd gotten a truck to live in, and modified it as they went, to suit their needs. He couldn't get over the fact that not only had she forgiven him, but they seemed to be more than they'd been, Back There. More than friends: now they were _partners_.

And now, sprawled in the back of the truck, watching the stars through the narrow skylight, was something else he could never predicted, that he'd never, in a thousand years, have seen coming, and that he wasn't sure he was comfortable with. Her eyes locked on his, not demanding, but still requesting a response, her hands on either side of his legs, her breath on his face…

A weak smile tugged at her lips, his lack of response saying more than he wanted.

"I see."

That was all she said, pulling back so that she was no longer leaning over him, so that their faces weren't so close, so that he could think. She turned away, looking pained, and lay down to rest (he wasn't sure what was worse: that the cramped space forced her to curl up beside him, or that if they'd camped outside he was confident that she would've retreated as far away from him as she could get.) She left him with far too much to think about, and no one to talk to.

Biting his lip and hugging his arms close to himself, he remained propped up against the door of the compartment. By morning, he'd only sorted out one thing about what had happened, and that was that, somehow, he'd managed to absolutely _ruin_ something that he, very possibly, had wanted as much as she had. And the thought brought him close to tears.

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><p>I've yet to see a confession fic where Chell told Wheatley she might be in love with him, while still being in character. Personally, I think he'd be struck silent, which she, knowing him as she does...well, I wanted to have her kiss him, but the character overruled me, and took it as a bad thing. *sigh*<p>

Please Read and Review.


	18. Dark

**WARNING:** Chelley fluff!

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><p><strong><span>Dark<span>**

People often told Chell that the moon was romantic. Maybe once she could've agreed, but all the moon ever brought her were bad memories and the ghostly feeling of a pair of hands sliding, inexorably slipping out of her grip. She did love the sky, though, and it wasn't uncommon for her to take long walks when it was cloudy out.

It was too cold for a walk tonight, but she was happy to curl up on the porch and watch the sky. The new moon was barely visible, nothing but a larger spot where there were no stars, and the soft sparkle of those far-off lights was undeniably soothing. The whole world made peaceful by the early frost.

The door opened with its characteristic squeal.

"Whooo! Chilly out here! Definite shock to the system, that, wakes you right up, doesn't it?"

She smiled, tipping her head so she could see him. The soft blue glow from his eyes provided most of the light on the porch now, highlighting the small puffs of breath that hung before him. He wrapped his arms around himself and flashed her a grin. "Still, not too bad, considering. Ah, mind if I join you?"

She slid to the side, making room on the steps. He muttered something like "Brilliant!" and plopped down beside her, peering contentedly out into the darkness. It was a comfortable silence, and there wasn't a moon to be seen, but still her fingers itched to hold his hand, as though the simple touch could ground him to the earth. Though, really, she'd gone through so much trouble to get him back, it was perfectly reasonable to not want to risk losing him again.

She realized she was no longer staring at the stars.

The light from his optics reflected off his glasses, turning his hair and lashes blue, and the starlight changed him from pale to pure white. In this peaceful setting, he looked more like a carefully carved sculpture, some human artist's rendition of what he would look like, than the silly, bumbling chatterbox robot he was. She glanced away, her hand coming up to hide her widening smile.

The young man turned, noticing her movement. "Hmm? What's that look for, luv?"

She shook her head, refusing to give in to the sudden, ridiculous impulse that had seized her, smothering a giggle behind her hand. His eyebrows went up slightly.

"Oh, c'mon, you can tell me! Even if it's a secret…I promise I won't tell anyone! Not many people around here to tell, granted, but still…"

She crossed her arms and turned away, sticking her nose in the air in mock arrogance. He leaned closer, a playful smile dancing across his lips.

"Now don't be like that, luv! I can help…secrets are more fun if they're shared, right? Plus, plus! Better for your, erm, psychological health, or something, if you get things off your chest. I'm right here, willing to listen to anything you have to tell me, anytime, even if it doesn't seem like it, way I go on, and all."

She tilted her head so that he'd see her roll her eyes. The eyebrows came down, his voice becoming defensive.

"Well it's true! I can be quiet if I have to be, really! I mean, um…for example…" He struggled to recall a single moment, despite the shared silence of a few seconds ago. After a little while, he shrugged, giving up. "Irrelevant, really. What matters is, if you do have something to say, I can keep my mouth shut. Promise I won't give away any big secrets, or little ones, if that's what you want to share, scout's honor. …Never was a scout, so, ah…core. Core's honor, won't tell a soul. Really."

The endearing smile was back, putting teasing thoughts in her head. Chell wasn't a touchy sort of person; for the most part, she avoided physical contact with any- and everyone. She'd broken her rule for him back at the facility, letting him cling to her arm when he was scared or grab her wrist to guide her, but, aside from helping him up off the floor, she'd never initiated the contact. Ever since he'd crashed back to earth, though, she'd often caught herself touching his shoulder, or hand, or back, tiny reminders that he really was there, that she wasn't dreaming. He never noticed; contact came naturally to him, though he wasn't really comfortable with anyone but her doing it. Now, though, she was very aware of that impulse, and it was telling her to put out her hand and cup his cheek, to capture that smile, even though it would be gone and replaced with confusion by the time she'd finished the gesture. It told her to steal his glasses and put them on, despite the fact she wouldn't be able to see the look of amused irritation that was sure to get her, through the thick lenses. All sorts of nonsensical, completely illogical thoughts that were completely out of character for her, but still clamored to be acted upon.

She bit her lip and sighed.

"Erm, is that a good sigh or a bad sigh, luv? Can't, can't really tell because, well, you aren't smiling anymore, so is it a 'oh, this is getting boring, let's go inside already,' sort of sigh, or a 'fine, Wheatley, I'll let you in on the secret, you're not going to believe this!' sort of…" he trailed off, uncomfortable. She patted his arm in an awkward attempt at comfort.

The robot smiled weakly, and retreated back to his corner of the steps. A small rush of panic blossomed in Chell's chest. She knew that look, the one he used when he tried to hide the fact that something she'd done had stung him, and knew where his thoughts went afterwards. The last thing she wanted was for Wheatley, _her_ Wheatley, to go back to that sad, guilty place he'd been in when she'd found him, so different from his usual bright, cheerful self.

She leaned over, catching his chin with her hand, and planted a feather-light kiss on his cheek. It was pure, desperate impulse, really, a need to see that smile again, and know things were okay…

His jaw dropped, bright blue eyes widening. Beneath her hand, the chill of coolant spread across his cheeks in a blush. In all their time together, she'd never seen him so shocked (well, maybe once, but she tried very hard not to think about that.) Her own cheeks heated in response. The girl turned, pulling back into her own corner.

She never heard the wirr of his CPU processing what just happened. She couldn't understand the ticking of the binary units behind his eyes, telling him what he'd experienced. She didn't see the confusion melt into a wide, dopey grin.

She did, however, feel it when he darted to her side and returned the favor.

It was her turn to be shocked. He laughed, sounding in that instant not entirely unlike the Space Core in a good mood.

"Oh, brilliant! You should really see your face, luv, absolutely blown away! Did tiny little Wheatley do that?" He beamed at her, clearly very pleased with himself. "Well, not my fault, really luv, absolutely brilliant idea, that. C'mon, smile! Isn't that the point?"

Though he would, for certain, take credit for it, a completely involuntary smirk crept onto her face. Finally giving in, she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, listening to the echoes of his laugh still bouncing around his chest, and relaxed.

Perhaps, in this one case, there was nothing wrong with listening to her heart instead of her mind, every once in a while.

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><p>I can write fluff! I can!<p>

I've been trying to write something like this for over a month, and it never comes out quite right. I'm proud of this one, though.

Please R&R


	19. Reflection

**Reflection**

She stood there, dripping wet, a towel clutched in one hand. She was always struck by her reflection at times like this, off guard and unprepared for the harsh memories it brought back. The full-body view provided by her bathroom mirror certainly didn't help.

Her face. Her hair was evenly cut and well cared for, no longer the frizzled mess it had been when she'd escaped, dry, split and tangled. Her eyes were as sharp as ever, her stare as intense and calculating as it'd been when seen through the portals. She supposed that would never change. Her nose had never been broken, nor her cheek bones, though there was a scar on her chin. She could still feel it, the burn of skin flying off, a few hairs dropping, the cold shock of such a close call, the questioning voice. _"Are you still there?"_

No, no she wasn't. She was free now.

Her neck, her shoulders, her arms, her chest. Again, mostly untouched, though from the elbows down she was flecked with shiny patches, scars left from chemical burns. She remembered every one, every time she'd slipped or fallen on the gels, catching herself, the pain red-hot on her palms and everywhere it splashed. The voices rang through her head, warning of the dangerous properties of the gels.

She was glad she'd never been so hungry she tried to eat them; no doubt she'd be dead by now.

Her feet, ankles, calves. Untouched by anything, protected by the boots that had saved her life so many times. It had taken months of walking around barefoot or in flats to stretch out her Achilles tendon, shortened from being en point for so long. It hadn't bothered her; being able to walk flat-footed was a symbol of freedom, and she didn't care how much pain it took to be able to do it.

Because hell if she was wearing heels.

Her thighs and her hips. Long, upwards-pointing scars, the dragging of fire and shrapnel along her skin, shredding through the jumpsuit after stepping on the trigger, coiled around the base of the button. If not for her boots, she probably would've lost her legs, and would've died very soon afterwards. Her abdomen as well, peppered with bullet-scars and bomb shards, though those were shorter marks.

The most powerful scars from that fight were emotional, though.

Her hands. The worst of all, always stripped to the elements. Bright red palms, burned too many times, scraped from catching herself on the abrasive portal surfaces, cut by protruding pieces in the abandoned sections of the facility. The fingers of her right hand, forever partially curled, unable to straighten after so much time clutching the pull-trigger within the ASHPD. The backs, a scramble of dark marks that she couldn't remember how she got; blowback from bullets, she'd guess. The skin stretched and pulled whenever she tried to do anything, no matter how heavily she lotioned it. Precision movement was something she refused to give up on, but less than a year after her release, she'd developed arthritis. Her pills only numbed the pain, they didn't help with the clumsiness she'd developed as a side effect of it. But still she persisted.

Besides which, she hated the pills. She hated putting a foreign substance in her body under any circumstances, and pain meant she was alive.

Chell sighed, turning her back on the mirror and drying her hair. If this was going to happen every time she took a shower, she told herself, she was going to have to find a new home for that thing.

Perhaps a dumpster.

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><p>Yeah...no comment from me this time. Except, please do Read <em>and<em> Review. Reviews mean more to me than Alerts or Favorites...


	20. Light

Chapter Twenty, folks! We're a fifth of the way there!

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><p><strong><span>Light<span>**

It wasn't space.

That had been his thought when they'd installed him in this new hard-drive, when he and the other cores had followed the lady to the city. _It's not space. I want to go back to space. When do we go back to space, Lady? _She just shook her head and kept walking. And he followed, taking some comfort in the fact that the other cores looked just as confused as he felt.

Comfort. That was new. Lots of things were new with this form. They told him there'd been a glitch in his programing, that he'd been corrupted, that he'd been obsessive, and they'd fixed him. He blinked big golden eyes up at them, and asked what was wrong with space, that they had to fix him for liking it? The lady had rolled her eyes, and She had glared, and nobody had answered his question. Though Space Buddy had given him a concerned glance, he'd stayed resolutely planted beside the lady, clutching her hand like it was the only thing keeping him on Earth.

The other cores had shot him various looks, but he'd determined the best method was to keep his head down, letting his mop of new hair hide his face, and stay at the back of the group. Trudging along, muttering about space meanies and meteors, he hadn't noticed her at first.

"Why're you mad?"

He'd glanced at her. They were roughly the same size. Her hair was pulled back, her optics an orange so pale as to be almost yellow. She tipped her head to the side, focusing that bright gaze on him, face begging for an answer.

So he told her.

"Not in space. Don't like Earth; miss space."

"What's wrong with Earth?" she'd asked, genuinely wanting to know; there wasn't a trace of hostility in her voice.

"Nothing wrong with Earth, it's just not space."

"Well, what's good about space?"

He'd stared at her. "Space is _space!_ Space is _me! _I'm Space, and Dad is Space, and Mom is Science! Space is…" The words popped up out of nowhere. "…my primary function."

"Oooh! I'm Curry!" she giggled, "Cure-ee-ah-city, that's me! I ask questions! Lots of questions!"

The golden core felt his eyes light up. "You must know lots!"

Curry frowned. "No, no, nobody answers my questions. They get tired of them." She looked down, forlorn. "You will too, just wait and see."

Sympathy. That was new, too.

"…Nobody asks me about space. Nobody wants to know about space. They say they already know about space, they know too much about space, please _shut up _about space. But I know everything about space! Why doesn't anyone want to learn about space? Nebulae? Meteors?" The last two words slipped out as half-whispered expressions of confusion.

She looked up, her bright smile coming back. "I want to know about space! I'd _love _to know about space! What's in space? What's a 'nebulae'? Meteors? I know about comets, do you know about comets?"

. . .

Chell glanced over her shoulder, taking in the scene behind her. Wheatley was saying something about some job he'd almost gotten once. Anger and Morality had their heads together, whispering to eachother. Rick was breaking up a fight between Fact and Logic, who looked like they were coming close to blows. And, trailing behind them by a good ten feet, the two palest cores were deep in excited conversation, grinning from ear to ear. Space was gesturing with his free hand (the other tightly entwined with Curiosity's) while the orange core watched him with rapt attention.

The girl glanced down at her own hand, leading Wheatley through the grain, and smiled to herself. Perhaps his optimism was rubbing off on her, because she'd never in her memory felt more confident that everything would work out for the best. For everyone.

* * *

><p>Spaciosity! Childish it may be, but it's so cute!<p>

Please Read and Review.


	21. Nature's Fury

**Nature's Fury**

_Flash floods claim more lives than any other natural disaster on the planet,_ Craig's voice rung smugly in the back of his head. _They are also some of the most common._

He had nothing against rain, really, it was hard to grow up in Bristol and not be able to at least _tolerate_ the stuff. Though he really, _really_ didn't like most water (much to his parents' confusion) rain was fine most of the time. Right now, though, he was wishing that it hadn't decided to not only _follow_ him from home, but also to call all of its state-side friends over for a bloody party right above _his _head. Clambering his way to the top of the moving truck, electric lantern clutched in one hand, raincoat flapping around him in the wind, glancing down at the rushing water below, he prayed nobody else had the misfortune to be caught out in this weather.

He was horrified when a bright blue car came rushing down, not floating but still being pushed along pretty fast by the water. Someone was sitting on the roof, clutching at the roof rack.

The car slammed into the truck, jolting him loose and throwing off its terrified passenger. His fingers scrabbled through the air, desperate for something to hang onto.  
>Both hands found a grip, on opposite sides of his body.<p>

**. . .**

Chell lashed against the tumbling water, feeling beaten and bruised after mere seconds in it. She worked hard not to panic, trying to think, but a primal terror screeched through her body, setting every nerve on end. She went to scream, then dug her teeth into her cheek to stop herself from losing the precious few bubbles in her mouth. Her lungs were burning, she hadn't gotten a proper breath, she–

A hand closed around her wrist. She clutched at it, recognizing an anchor when she felt one.

Her head broke the surface, still pummeled by waves, but up enough for a breath of the hot, sticky thunderstorm air. She blinked up at her rescuer, the man she'd seen climbing the truck up ahead. He was clutching the open window of his vehicle with one hand, his feet drifting in the water. He was yelling something at the top of his lungs, but that was all she could make out. She shook her head to show she didn't understand.

His mouth snapped shut, and he looked very thoughtful for a second. With a bit of work, he dragged himself back into the cockpit of the truck, towing her along behind him. Out of the water, she could just make out his words.

_"We can't stay here!"_ he was yelling, _"It's still rising!"_

She nodded, and accepted the leg up back out the window, praying he'd be able to join her before the space flooded.

**. . . **

Wheatley swung up onto the roof, gasping and out of breath. He hadn't had this much exercise since public school, and was far from being in shape. He gazed at the girl he'd grabbed, thrashing about above the water. He knew if he hadn't she'd have almost certainly died, but there was still no guarantee they'd both survive this storm, and if he had to spend time with her, he knew he'd feel just downright _awful_ if she died on his watch. Well, he would've anyway, but at least it would've been that sort of impersonal _Oh God, that could've been me! _awful that comes from watching a news report.

She gestured for him to stay low, and then set the example by crawling out to the middle of the roof. He followed, keeping his head down. His lantern, the only source of light he had, had been dropped when he'd slipped, and he missed it already. The sun was going down somewhere, and it was getting dark.  
><strong><br>**

**. . .**

It had been over an hour. The truck had come to rest between two trees, moving in a series of halting jerks as the water shoved it off the road, before just gliding the rest of the way when the water reached the bottom of the window. It was still getting higher, flooding the cabin beneath them. The two watched it in fascinated horror, wondering when it was going to top.

Three hours in, the wind died down, though the pounding of the rain on roof of the truck made conversation impossible. Chell fished a sodden granola bar out of her pocket and shared it with her savior. His face told her he wasn't a huge fan of granola, but he accepted it with a _"Thank you!" _and gnawed his way through his half. Neither of them had much appetite, but both were aware of how important keeping their strength up was. When they finished, the sun was fully gone, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightening. She groped for his hand in the dark, and clung to it.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle when the air began to cool. Soaked and scared, they huddled together on the roof for warmth, his poncho held above them like a tent. He told her about the rain back home, which, though there was a lot of it, was never _this _bad. He asked if the weather in the states was always like this (because, if it was, he might just have to move back to England). She shook her head, a wry smile twisting her lips.

Their arms were too tired to hold it up anymore before she would open her mouth. Slowly, haltingly, she told him about her friends, her family. He found a pen in his pocket, and they both wrote down the other's contacts on their arms, in case one of them didn't make it, agreeing to alert their loved ones and tell them what happened. She was surprised by the number of local numbers he gave her.

_"I got a job in…"_ he named some town she'd never heard of before, gesturing vaguely to the horizon. _"Some friends offered me a place to stay until I found an apartment."_

He told her his sister had agreed to bring down his big orange tabby in a week, to give him time to settle in. He looked so forlorn, glancing at the water just a foot and a half below their feet, that she leaned over and gave him a quick hug, promising him his cat would be fine, that he'd be there to take care of it.

The sun was peeking over the horizon, glinting briefly between the hills and the clouds, when the rescue helicopters soared overhead. The water was up to their knees, forcing the two to stand. They were cold, wet and somber, but they were alive. When the first man dropped down with a harness, Wheatley handed his partner up to him, despite her squirming. The helicopter pulled back, full, as the other one dropped a different man to retrieve him. He cheered and waved on the way up, only to collapse once he got in.

They both gave their statements. One the media heard, they immediately made him out to be some valiant knight, saving a damsel in distress. Neither of them particularly liked this portrayal of themselves, and refused to comment.

**. . . **

Weeks later, ink fading on his arm, fuss finally dying down, he got home, put away the groceries and set the answering machine to "play." He picked up Butterball and sat down on the couch to listen.

His heart nearly stopped.

_"Hey, Wheatley. Look, I'm sorry I didn't call sooner, but things are only just settling down over here; besides which, among all the numbers you wrote on my arm, you somehow failed to give me yours. You don't want to know how many calls I had to make to find it out.  
>"Anyway, I was wondering if you'd like to talk or hang out sometime? It'd be nice to get to know eachother under less dire circumstances. Call me."<em>

* * *

><p>Inspired by a series I'm watching on atural disasters. They had a whole hour dedicated to flash floods. I took a bunch of pieces from the survivors stories, peiced them together into something like a plot, tossed in these two, and wound up with a really weird and dangerous way to meet and bond with someone you might never talk to under normal circumstances. I've also set it up for future Chelley (or just a close friendship, if you're not into that) so huzzah! Probably won't revisist this world, had a lot of trouble getting into their heads.<p>

Please Read and review.

P.S. Can't you just see Wheatley cuddling with a fluffy orange house cat?


	22. Inspiration

Direct sequel to Dreamer.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Inspiration<span>**

Paintings. Paintings and drawings and art littered her room, a jumble of beautifully rendered images from various events in her life and dreams. Someone had once recommended she sell them, but always she refused. Another had taken a portrait of her main subjects, Him in his Management chair, Her in her Chassis, and asked who they were. Chell's eyes had locked on a space somewhere between liquid gold and stormy blue, and murmured, "My muses."

She thought she'd come to terms with the fact she'd never see them again, that no matter how much she missed His waterfall of a voice, no matter how curious she was about how She was doing down there, they were both beyond her reach. She'd frankly been so busy building up her resistance to the illogical pain of their loss to prepare herself for what she would do if one of them ever _did _stumble back into her life.

And now here she was, surrounded by incriminating pictures that showed just how badly she'd reacted to being expelled from everything she'd ever known, with no idea how to hide them before He got worried (or just bored) and came to check on her. She didn't want to risk damaging them, these things she'd worked so hard on, these reminders of her past life, so just ripping them down was out of the question…not that she had a container to properly store them.

_At least most of them are on the same wall as the door, _Chell told herself, prying out the pins, carefully tugging on the tape, and rolling up the sticky putty that held up the rest. She shuffled them into a rough pile and dropped them on her desk to take care of later; with a manila folder on top, they looked vaguely official, not something to be messed with.

She raced back down the stairs, grabbing a sheet to toss on the couch for Him, and to tell him to stay out of her room under all circumstances. The quick, over-alert way he agreed told her he was just as shaken by this as she was.

She felt mildly guilty as she went to tell her neighbors that she had a guest for the next few days.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . **

Words. Words, poems, and carefully recorded quotes flooded his head. He'd always been talkative, and with nothing else to do, in space, he'd put the metaphorical pen to the equally metaphorical page. No one to talk to, forced to look at his own work, day after day, month after month, he'd tweaked and critiqued until there was nothing left to fix.

He'd stuttered and stammered his way through his apology, jumped whenever she startled him, tried to help, only to be pushed back…he wished he hadn't made such a fool of himself, and had no idea why he'd expected her reception of him to be better than lukewarm at best. He hadn't even known he _had _been expecting better, but he must've, because otherwise it wouldn't hurt nearly so much to be brushed off like this.

He'd missed her. He'd missed those stern grey eyes, and how much emotion they could convey, missed her simple, straight-forward way of going about things…but mostly he'd missed the way she used to look at him, missed the companionship they'd used to have, that simple, human warmth and appreciation that she used to show him. _That's what's missing, _he realized, something in his chest grinding painfully.

She brushed past him, quickly laying down the house rules, leaving no room for argument (not that he wanted to) and told him she needed to get back to work.

The door slammed behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts all over again. Words played across his mind, teasing him with the promise of something to come.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . **

She asked him if he had enough to occupy himself when he was alone. He had beamed at her, and showed her a collection of lost coins he'd been building. More than a week in, and they were only marginally more comfortable around eachother. She showed him where the local shops were and made sure he had a rudimentary idea of how to get around the area without getting lost. She even got him a spare key to her apartment, making him promise to keep track of it.

He was so careful about keeping his word these days…

It wasn't until she was going to bed that night that she realized the capital had dropped from her mind, at least when it came to him.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . **

Night of the twenty-ninth day found him with his head in his hands on the couch, while she hid behind the door of her room.

The break had been simple and painful, a horrible jab for both of them. She'd come home to find him at her desk, surrounded by a flurry of papers, face-to-face with her favorite picture of them laughing. His face was a mask of shock, and she vaguely wondered how long he'd been there.

Their eyes had met. Very slowly, very calmly, she'd told him to leave. _Now._He'd gulped and…just…gave up, walked past her, shoulders slumped, eyes on the floor. No excuses, no explanations, no attempts to shift the blame. He knew he'd messed up, knew he'd broken her trust, and something in her broke at the sight of it.

The moment he was out of the room, she'd crumpled onto her bed, and fought against both murderous anger and heart crushing sadness.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . **

Wheatley paced. He didn't know what to do, what to say, and he dug his teeth into his lip to keep from babbling. He'd done it again, invaded her privacy, broken her trust, and he just knew that no simple apology would make it up to her. No explanation would do, no words would suffice; what he'd seen in that room was her soul bared to paper, not for him to see…

He froze, an idea blossoming in his mind.

He grabbed the jar of coins and ran out the door.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . **

Chell stumbled out in the morning, not knowing how to face him but needing to eat. In the middle of the table, she was surprised to find a USB drive, gently placed on a folded sheet of paper. Curious, she opened it.

One word wobbled its way across the page. _"Please." _Intrigued, she grabbed a granola bar and made her way to the computer, perched in the corner of the kitchen. She plopped down in the chair, sliding it in and turning the machine on. Patiently, she waited for it to load, before opening the USB folder and clicking on the first file.

Words spilled out across the spreadsheet.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . **

He sat outside of the door to the apartment, not knowing how far she'd wanted him to go when she'd told him to leave. His nerves were such a scattered mess, his thoughts fixated on the memory drive, full of all the words he'd picked over so carefully in space, every speech, every apology, every poem and hiku…

The door swung open, her frazzled silhouette appearing. He lept to his feet, fully ready to run if she'd come to tell him to get lost.

Warm arms folded around his neck, soft shudders rocking her frame. His own libs wrapped themselves around her, recognizing the gesture long before his mind did. After a long, wonderful moment, she pulled back, her tear-streaked face gentle as she raised one hand to cup his cheek.

He sighed.

"I'm sorry, luv."

"Me too," she whispered, and for a split second her eyes warmed in a way he thought he'd never see again.

* * *

><p>Please R&amp;R<p> 


	23. 33

**33%**

She walked calmly, a flash of unusual color in the white facility. People stopped to stare, to watch this tall, proud woman, with her red scarf, nails, shoes, sweep down the hall, clipboard in her arms the way it had been every day for as long as anyone could remember, as though she was merely performing another check-up on the projects, making sure everyone was working, maybe grabbing two mugs of coffee on her way back. Indeed, on any other day no one would've thought twice about her, though they might have paused to flash the friendly woman a smile, and get one in return. Now they gazed at her with somber faces and sad eyes, conversations vaporizing as she came into sight.

Her hands trembled against the sturdy wood of her old clipboard. _No more hands after today._

Lab coats hung flat in the still air, their owners not knowing how to react. She forced a smile for them, forced herself to nod in recognition to each person she passed.

_No more smiles after today._

One young man stepped forwards and offered her his hand. Caroline took it gratefully, her smile flickering genuine for a split second. He bowed his head, gaze fixed on her shiny red heels. "I'm sorry," he whispered, before stepping back into the crowd. She watched him go for a moment longer than she might've normally, wishing she knew his name, this brave scientist, wishing she had the time to learn.

_No more walks after today,_ she told herself, _enjoy it while it lasts._

He'd started a wave, though. Now everyone wanted to touch her, fingers brushing against her arms, her shoulders, her back, like so many bead curtains. Their eyes were awed and horrified as they reached for the dead woman, the lady who walked to her own execution with her head held high. She fought to keep her lips from trembling as someone ran their hand over her hair.

_No more hair after today._

Arriving at her turn, she gently pushed her way out of the crowd to walk down the long hallway. The prototype hung from the ceiling of her final resting place, bulky and ugly. She remembered all the people who complimented her, the way she'd brushed them off, declaring her nose too long, or her eyes too close, or her ears too small. _No more nose, no more eyes, no more skin or ears. _

She wished she had someone to tell her she was beautiful now.

She wished she had someone to hold her hands as the scientists prepared her for the procedure. She longed for someone to give her one last hug, one last kiss. She craved the feeling of having someone there who cared for her as a person. She wished for someone who would look into her eyes and tell her it'd be alright, that nothing would go wrong, because nothing _could_ go wrong.

She needed to feel safe in these last few moments, as the scientists plugged her in, asked if she was ready. She nodded, though her mind shrieked more excuses than she'd known existed for getting out of something.

She needed to feel loved as that first shock hit her body, as the horrible draining sensation began at the back of her mind, but she knew that was impossible.

It was impossible.

It was impossible, because he was dead. He was dead, and yet he was still the one doing this to her.

* * *

><p>Oh look! Caroline angst! And Caveline...surprised it didn't show up sooner, to be honest.<p> 


	24. Heart Song

The song mentioned in this oneshot is _Eternity_ by Paul van Dyk, featuring Adam Young. It's probably best to listen to it while you read.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Heart Song<span>**

All the old radio stations had, apparently, frozen, when whatever disaster that had caused the world to be nearly empty had struck. They were still running, mysteriously, much like the water lines, and electrical system, but merely played the same song or CD over and over again, until some clever person found it, and started a broadcast of their own. They didn't know the names of the songs, referring to them instead by the channel they had found them on, or a favorite line. She'd always be fond of 85.2FM, who's familiar tune had helped her through several of the old test chambers, but one could only listen to the same song so many times.

Which was how, alone in the kitchen, she'd turned the dial persistently until she found something new.

The tune she eventually settled on was catchy, oddly soothing. She smiled as she rummaged through the cupboards for something to eat.

By the second time through, she realized she was moving to the beat, swift and smooth, and the smile blossomed into a grin.

By the fourth time, she swayed her hips as she chopped the vegetables, humming the melody to herself.

On the sixth, she allowed herself a twirl as she dropped several of the ingredients into a pan and put down the lid. She'd never been a girly-girl, but she did catch herself wishing for a skirt. One really couldn't appreciate the full joy of a twirl without a ridiculously flow-y piece of fabric to swirl around one's knees. She rolled her eyes at the silliness of the idea of prancing around her kitchen like a housewife, but still tossed in another after she put the water on.

After dinner, the music humming away in the background, she found herself wishing for something even more frivolous and stupid.

The woman who had beaten Aperture twice, the test subject who survived, the human who had done any and everything to save her own skin sat in her tiny kitchen, with music in the air, and _longed_ for a dancing partner.

* * *

><p>Chell is lonesome...<p>

Please R&R


	25. Excuses

**Excuses**

A soft glow lit the inside of the bin, casting violet light back on her form. The storage unit was roughly the size and shape of a coffin, a metaphor that was not lost on its occupant. She had no idea how long she'd lain there, a space too small to move, her counter having maxed out sometime before. Most of her processors had gone into sleep mode long ago to save energy, and even thinking around the light from her eyes was difficult.

Which was perhaps why she didn't notice the scraping sounds until they hit the casing, sending a sound like an old gong straight through her skull, triggering all her senses into high alert.

Someone was yelling, and now she could hear rapid footsteps dashing across the debris above her head. The noises got louder, and more concentrated, as someone dug their way through huge mounds of half-incinerated trash to get at the lid. Three long minutes later, a sharp sound like metal on metal came from somewhere in the middle.

"Hallo? Anyone alive in there? Could you, you know, knock, or something? Assuming, of course, that you're in there..."

Morality caught her breath, and slammed one fist into the lid as hard as she could.

"Right, right, got it! Don't worry, we'll have you out in just a jiffy. Lucky thing this incinerator's broken, huh?" The last part sounded more like he was talking to someone else, but that didn't stop her from nodding in response. Of course, She'd severed their connection the moment the purple core had gone down the chute, a decidedly painful process for both ends, Mora understood, but she couldn't help but be glad that what she'd perceived as her imminent doom had become nothing more than a flash of intense heat, followed by being packaged right up by the Aperture Science Safety Waste Disposal Machine.

Over her head, she could still hear the voice calling orders, but they were muffled now, to the point of being unintelligible. There was a sudden, sharp _pop!_ and now they were prying off the lid, whoever "they" were.

Light poured in, temporarily blinding her. The core blinked, waiting for her visual processors to clear up.

Purple optics met green, and the man's rough face broke into a grin.

"Hey there, pretty lady. Need a hand?" He held out his, an obvious offer for help.

_That's not who I heard,_she thought, placing her carefully-crafted appendage into his oversized palm, very aware of the size difference between them. He was surprisingly gentle, helping the older model to her feet without too much fuss, and a polite smile. The bared circuitry on her shell was much more blatant than the darkened lines on his skin, another contrast which bothered her. Morality was well aware that the scientists had huge stockpiles of replacement cores in case they failed, but she hadn't realized just how much they upgraded them.

She brushed her fingers against his shoulder, sending a feeling of gratitude sparking across her fingertips. The man jumped a little, but quickly settled back into his confident posture-smirk combination.

"Nice gal like you? No thanks needed; happy to help!"

She nodded, and looked around for the first time.

The Aperture Science Facility Safety Dump was a seemingly endless stretch of boxes of various sizes and conditioned, piled on top of eachother, each containing the remains of some incinerated object. Most of them were rust flecked with black coloring of some kind, though for sure it used to be the inverse. Her own bin was at the bottom of a small pit, clearly having only just been dug out.

Her saviors were mostly cores; a bright, smiling yellow core, with a childish form and starburst optics knelt at the foot of the hole. Logic's familiar face smirked at her from the top of a refrigerator-sized container that poked out of the debris like a ledge. A considerably paler blue core was off to the side, the voice that had called out to her babbling away to the human tending to the torn skin on his knuckles.

Morality blinked, shocked. _The test subject…? _she wondered, _How…_The woman had a kind, patient smile on her face a she examined the talkative one's hand, the sort of smile worn by someone who's heard it all before, but doesn't really mind if you tell it again. The core laughed, a pure, brilliant sound, and touched the back of his neck with his free hand, stealing a chuckle from the woman.

Mora ducked her head to hide a smile. _Obviously I won't have **their** attention for a while…_

A pair of arms folded around her waist, a chin fitting into the crook of her neck.  
>Another familiar thing, this time the feeling of a mind slowly settling down, sparked across her bare circuitry. She smiled, leaning back into the gesture, hands settling on his wrists, and turning her head to meet the rose-red optics.<p>

_Hello, Anger._

_Morality. _Sharp, curt, and to the point. Some things would never change, no matter how long they were apart.

_I'm only doing this to calm down,_ he snapped, picking up on the thought. _Don't go getting any ideas!_

_Of course not, Anger. It's good to see you._

A rough feeling, the digital equivalent of a grumble, flowed down her wires.

He was undeniably calm, or at least as calm as was possible for him. Still, the red core made no attempt to release her.

* * *

><p>Angerality. Because it's adorable. Also, Chelley. Same logic.<p>

Please Read and Review~


	26. Slow Down

This was heavily inspired by the song _Where We're Going_ by Corey Gray. I reccommend listening to it while you read.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Slow Down<span>**

Chell remembered once someone had asked her to describe a person using only one word. Amongst her new friends, she often found that the job had been done for her.

"Anger."  
>"Logic."<br>"Morality."  
>"Space."<p>

Simple names, to the point. They'd either been assigned them to explain their function, or had chosen them based on their likes. Every so often, when his voice cooperated, "Logic" would politely ask to be called "Baker," for example. And, of course, "Rick" had come up with his own name, sitting in a pen for years with nothing to do but fantasize about adventure. And "Anger" was technically the "Emotion Core," though the first was definitely more fitting. And then…

Then there was _him._

One word.

She could never seem to solve that puzzle. Oh, there was no denying that she'd heard him called any number of things. "Moron" seemed to be Her default name for him. "Intelligence Dampening Sphere," his actual title, was almost as much of a mouthful as Her full name. "IDS" wasn't much of a nickname, and besides, he hated to be reminded of his function.

The strangest thing was, none of the terms fit. He wasn't "Stupid," just a bit slow. He'd stopped being "Crazy" as soon as he'd stepped out of that chamber. The gentle awe with which he approached the world was enough to melt away the part of her that wanted to label him an "Enemy," though it fuzzed the boarders of "Friend" as well. He was always open, sincere (if not fully honest,) energetic…

_"Frantic"_was the word of the day. She'd come up with it watching him dash around the apartment, apparently convinced that somehow he could make everything up to her through chores. It fit in most areas; to say his mouth ran "a mile a minute" would be an understatement, and even when she managed to get him to hold still, he fidgeted, shifting his weight and wringing his hands. Part of her worried he'd work himself to death, "Panicking" his way through every day of his life.

No, "Frantic" would never do, if she had to change it herself.

Chell licked the last drop of vanilla ice cream off her spoon, and waited. It never took long for him to notice, forever checking in to make sure things were alright. She casually flipped through the channels on the radio, until she found one she liked. Eventually, the familiar bright blue eyes appeared around the door, followed quickly by the rest of him. He babbled something about the ice cream, and the dishes, music…  
>Chell had learned a while ago how to tune out what exactly he was going on about, especially when she had a goal to focus on.<p>

The former test subject got to her feet, stretching. He was saying something about the sofa, dinner, exercise…

_"Wonderful idea," _she purred, reaching for his wrist.

For a single second, all color drained from the core's face. It was quikly overcome by a blush that would've been alarming on anyone else.

Chell laughed, reeling him in, and guiding him to the middle of the living room. He was stuttering out something about not understanding what she was going on about as she took both of his hands and squared her shoulders, sending the clear message for him to do the same. After some prompting, she got him to move his feet, long arms quick to follow. Placing his hands on her shoulders, she slid hers to his hips, encouraging his torso into the movement.

It took a few replays of the song, but she managed to get him to dance. It was slow, rhythmic and simple, but it was undeniably a dance. She listened to the sounds in his body slowing down, something like a heartbeat surfacing from the rest.  
>Gently, she rested her head against his chest, the dance reducing itself to mildly swaying to the beat. After a while, even that stopped.<p>

Chell glanced up, and was pleased to see him looking content for the first time in days.  
>The core chuckled. "Have I mentioned lately how lucky I am to have you here to look after me, luv?"<p>

Grinning, she buried her face back in his shirt.

_Then again, maybe he is named well; no other word seems capable of summing up my Wheatley._

* * *

><p>ALL THE CHELLEY FLUFF! ALL OF IT!<p>

*coughcough* Please leave a review.


	27. Acceptance

**Acceptance**

There was something very wrong with him. A crossed wire somewhere, something… How was he supposed to communicate, when he never knew when his voice would give out, when his words would break down into gibberish? Where was the _logic_ in that?

Sometimes, he could hold a complete conversation, talking at length with the others about any number of things, vainly enjoying the shocked looks on their faces as he managed to find a useful answer to their question, no matter what it was. There was nothing better than the look on Curiosity's face when he was able to stump her, answer until she ran out of questions. Nothing better than proving to Rick how little he knew, one-upping Craig in a fact contest. Explaining something so that even the moron understood, or helping in the kitchen… He reveled in these things. He coveted them, like a magpie treasures shine, not caring if it's trash or treasure. Because…

Because sometimes, he couldn't do any of it. He'd ask Chell to pass the flour, and hear himself say something about lemons. He'd watch Craig smirk as he stuttered on, horrified, about dirt, or eggshells. Curi would change the topic, but he couldn't fix it, or get back on track, his voice persistently stuck on inane measurements and insane ingredients, no matter what he tried to say. Rick would be almost open in his mockery, especially if he got trapped on the fish track, while Wheatley would pat his shoulder sympathetically, and move on.

And, of course, sometimes the thing just gave out completely, getting stuck on a single sound, static, or deciding to reboot, leaving him mute for any number of hours. The day he'd woken up, and immediately started repeating "Ru-ru-ru-ru-ru-ru–" he'd locked himself in his room and refused to come out until it stopped after dinner. Even Morality had been confused the first time his voice had just stopped in the middle of a sentence, trying to convince Kevin that space was not the answer to everything. His mouth had just kept shaping his words, while the processor sat, dead, in the back of his throat; it had taken him a few, humiliating seconds to realize what had happened and shut up.

They were worried about him, he knew. He was the only one left with anything truly corrupt in him, even if it was purely physical. No test had picked it up, but it was there, the elephant in the room that no one brought up, if only because Morality had ordered them not to pick on him for it, and Anger had backed her up with one of his _looks_. He hated the pity, and at the same time, was relieved by the sympathy. Which one depended on the day.

This was not one of the good days. He sat on the couch, reading, lips silently tracing the words, an activity which normally meant the others left him alone. He knew he was brooding, and he didn't care.

New chapter. He glanced around for the others.

"One c-c-cup granula-la-lated–"

He clamped his mouth shut, feeling the rest of the description buzz against his teeth.

As the vibrations died, he tried again.

"Two cu-cu-chu-cha-_Cha_pter four."

A smile.

It didn't really matter if it was an uphill battle, or if he sometimes wished he had died in that incinerator. He'd always had this voice, since the day he'd been built, and though he could imagine life without it, part of him felt that it seemed mortifyingly easy.

After all, even if you're forever at war with yourself…every so often, you win. And few victories were sweeter.

* * *

><p>Have some inspirational Logic Core.<p> 


	28. Seperation

**Seperation**

Scavenging was a fact of life now. Once she'd realized that, Chell had also realized the necessity of leaving him alone; someone had to keep an eye on their home, and it was better if she was the one looking for the objects they'd need to survive.

The first few trips, she only raided houses on the same street as theirs, always coming back within a few hours. Every time, he waiting expectantly for her to come back, peering out the windows like a puppy waiting for its owner; when she did return, he greeted her just as enthusiastically as any terrier, certainly.

But the pickings got slim, and slowly, she had to push farther out. She didn't even realize how much longer each one took until one day she walked into the house to find dinner on the table, her companion gazing forlornly at his plate, waiting. The moment he noticed her, he was on his feet, gushing about how worried he'd been, and how he knew he didn't normally cook, but he'd wanted to surprise her, and this was alright, right?  
>She'd sighed and smiled, assuring him that everything was fine, and sat down to eat. The noodles were soggy and the meat was a bit overdone, but she'd had worse. And he looked so happy when she was done.<p>

The next time, she left earlier to make sure she'd be back by five, when they both expected food to be on the table. She even found herself a watch, which she synced with the kitchen clock just in case. But eventually came the time when, even leaving right after lunch, she couldn't find anything in time.

They had a very serious conversation about it. She explained about how, even if she began packing a lunch, sooner or later these trips would last all day. She needed to know that he could handle himself–_Are you listening, Wheatley?_–that he could deal with her being out of his sight for twenty-four hours or more. He'd wrung his hands, fiddled with his glasses, run his fingers through his hair, straightened his clothes, all the while trying to assure her that _of course_he could handle himself, he could handle anything, she could leave everything to him...

She sighed, and pulled him close, wrapping her arm around his thin shoulders, and quietly promised him she'd be alright. He'd looked up at her, and managed a weak laugh.  
>"Well, yeah, <em>of course<em> you will, luv! Did…did you think _that's_ what I was worried about? Ol' Wheatley knows you can take care of yourself, never got confused about _that,_silly, just sort of wondering what'll happen if–"

"Nothing's going to happen."

"Of course not, of course not, but _what if…"_  
>The rest of the conversation was a lost cause.<p>

Not long after, she arrived at the base long after sundown, tired but content with the day's haul. She dropped the bag in the living room, set down the basket for her lunch and supper, and headed upstairs. She hesitated outside the door to her room, longing for bed, but knowing she really ought to let him know she was back.

She sighed, and continued down the hall. The knob turned soundlessly in her hand, the door opening to a room that was pitch-dark…  
>Except for a single blue-white spotlight, illuminating a pair of hands picking at a threadbare edges of the blanket.<p>

"…Wheatley. You should be asleep."

He looked up, the glow temporarily blinding her. The bedside lamp flickered on, revealing a sheepish grin.

"Yes, well, _'should'_ doesn't necessarily equal _'can,'_luv. And I can't. Sleep, that is, no idea why, actually quite tired…"

"Laying down would probably help."

"Yeah, funny thing, tried that...didn't work. Felt pretty silly, actually, after a while, so I sat up, right, and–"

"Wheatley. Turn the flashlight off. Lay down. And _go to sleep."_

"…Sure thing, luv. Sorry for botherin you." There were two quick_ click_s, and the room went dark. She turned to go, then paused.

"If you plan to stay up like this every time, you could at least wait in my room; I'm_ tired,_ Wheatley. I want to go to _bed."_

"Wait in your room; got it. See you in the morning, then."

_"Goodnight."_

She didn't think too much about that conversation, though she didn't forget it. Hell, the system even seemed to work for a while; she'd get home late, go up to her room, throw out her tired housemate, turn off all the lamps he'd had on, and collapse into the bed for a well-earned rest.

And then there was the night of the storm.

It hit on her way home, a huge windstorm that tore into the city with enough force to topple some of the older buildings. She could just barely make out the house (mainly the lights in her window) when the gale took out the power grid, promptly throwing the entire world into darkness.

Chell plowed forwards in a straight line, forcing herself towards the ghost imagse of those glowing windows still dancing on her retinas. The sturdy feel of the first wooden step came as a wave of relief, her hands fumbling for the rail, guiding herself to the door. Inside, she stashed the new supplies under the table in the living room, finding an old lighter she kept out in case of emergency on the mantle. The flicker of the tiny flame helped her up the stairs, where she eased open the door to her room, breath catching in her throat.

It was absolutely dark.

"Wheatley…?"

_He wasn't there._That was her first reaction. He hated the dark, he would've turned his flashlight on the moment the lights went out. Maybe he'd gone to get something from his room, or one of the downstairs rooms she hadn't passed through…

But no. As the door opened further, she could make out the distinct shape of someone sprawled on the bed.

A horrible thought struck her: _What if he was charging?_ They were always careful not to plug him in if it looked like there might be a storm but this one had come up at _night._ He would need a serious charge soon, sleeping only did so much, and he loved to make little "surprises" for her, though his luck tended to get the better of most of them. She knew what an electrical surge could do to a computer or TV, and didn't even want to _begin _to think about what one would do to him.  
>Carefully, flame held high to get the maximum amount of light, she hurried over to the bed. He was face-down, curled in on himself slightly, and there was–<p>

No wire.

She was puzzled. It didn't make sense, what was going on? It was dark, but his flashlight was off, he wasn't plugged in, but he wasn't reacting in anyway, he was on the bed, doubtless waiting for her to come back…

The truth of the situation hit her.

It was late; the latest she'd ever come back, and he was coming up on the time when the small recharges of eating and sleeping wouldn't counteract the drain of functioning every day. And every time she left, he stayed up, worrying pointlessly, and wasting _more_energy.

He'd probably sat or lay down on the bed to wait, and fallen asleep. He was a pretty deep sleeper; she doubted he'd have noticed the lack of light, or her coming in, or even the storm itself. Now that she'd calmed down, she could see that his breathing was deep and even, and every so often his fingers or nose would twitch.  
>His hair was in his face, and his glasses were askew, and his pajamas were too big, and she didn't have the heart to wake him up.<p>

Chell sighed and smiled, as she turned off the lighter and set it on the bedside table. They'd need to find a generator in the morning (both of them, because she couldn't move one on her own,) but for now she climbs in beside him and pulls the blanket over them both. There's a hint of blue light as his eyelids flicker partially open, and he instinctually cuddles closer to her, widening the smile on his partners face. It was by far the gentlest expression she'd ever worn, and one he'd be sorry to miss if he knew.

* * *

><p>So my sister asked me today why I write Chelley. To which my answer was, of course, "Why <em>wouldn't <em>I write Chelley?"

Then I went to look at my list of themes, saw this and had the sudden _need_ to write Chelley. And that is why, dispite being sick and exausted, I'm posting this at this ungodly hour of the morning. Enjoy your fluff.


	29. Only Human

**Only Human**

She stumbled, catching herself against the wall. He frowned.

"Why are you stopping? You're not supposed to _stop,_ that's not how this works! You never stopped on–"

_"You really are a **moron,** aren't you?"_

"I'm _not–"_

_"Look at her; she's **exhausted.** You've been working her to the bone, and, for your information which I'm sure you're too **lazy** to look up on your own, I knew better than to **work **my test subjects to death. They never last long, and it's never fun to have to clean up the corpses."_

"Well, _maybe–"_

The other AI had no intention of letting him get a word in edgewise. _"She hasn't slept in three days, she was that determined to get back here. I think the poor thing was actually **worried **about you; funny, isn't it? And, of course, my estimate is based on the time **I've **been with her. For all I know, you pulled this exact same act during your little 'escape,' in which case it's been more like a week."_

He paused. While, on principle, he normally didn't take any advice given to him by Her, especially in the condition She was in _now,_ there was no denying that the test results had been getting less…pleasant, and he'd as yet been unable to find a reason why. So he did look at his test subject, really looked at her for the first time in a while, and what he saw astounded him.

Her skin was ashen. And not just hasn't-seen-the-sun-in-god-knows-how-long ashen, no; she looked _sick. _Her whole skin looked about half a size too big. There were dark circles under her eyes, which themselves were oddly dull and glassy. Her hair was a tangled mess, clearly devoid of even the loose finger-combings he'd seen her use in the past, and her whole figure was slumped, like she was carrying a cube on her shoulders.  
>All in all, she looked worse than when he'd first woken her up. And this time, he supposed, it really was his fault.<p>

"…Oh. Oh, luv, I'm sorry, just…give me a minute…"

_"Adrenal vapors don't help."_

"For your information, _miss,_ that wasn't what I was looking for." He huffed, fumbling around with the controls in the chassis, searching for something he knew was there but wasn't entirely sure where…

In the hallway, Chell sat down with a soft sigh, relieved to be off her feet for the first time in far, far too long. Part of her was ashamed that the potato had noticed her condition, but mostly she was relieved. GLaDOS knew she'd be useless in any kind of confrontation if she was ready to keel over at any second, and the AI's talent for lying certainly came in handy (of course Her tests had lasted until the test subject died, and the only sleep Chell had had was snatched in the strange painted rooms, out of Her sight, often to be woken up by a mechanical screech at full volume.) Still, she couldn't help but feel a little bad about it; the obvious implication he would draw was that the test euphoria was getting weaker because his test subject was, which both of the women knew to be false. Still, it was a necessary evil, if she wanted to survive, and obviously it was working.  
>Part of her even wanted to believe he would let her stop because somewhere, deep down in that chassis, the blue-eyed core still <em>cared.<em> At least a little.

"Aha! Got it! Remember those pneumatic diversity vents we jumped in, way back when? Bit of a one-way trip sort of thing. Go absolutely everywhere in the facility. Well, just thought you'd want to know I'm sending one your way now with a bit of a surprise. Really, this is brilliant, you're gonna _love_ this…"

Of course, it really was a foolish hope.

Chell scooted back into the corner, watching the single camera warily. The panels beneath it trembled and slid out of the way as an enormous glass tube slid into place. She heard him say "And here we go!" and then there was a deafening blast of air, an artificial gale powerful enough to force her to close her eyes and huddle her knees into her chest, knowing whatever he was tossing in here was probably not something she was going to enjoy, and praying whatever it was didn't hit her.

There was a series of muffled _whump!_s, and the air stopped. She heard the panels slide back into place and slowly took a look around.

"What do you think? Found 'em lying around in back-up storage, knew there had to be something like them around, just some good old replacements for when they clean the cryo chambers. Very useful, I'm sure, very _soft,_ certainly better than that floor you're sitting on…"

Piled up against the wall was a small mountain of plain white pillows. 

Chell smiled. _Maybe it's not so foolish after all_, she thought, moving over and beginning to shuffle through them. Really, she'd always loved to burrow; even in summer, the girl had kept several sheets, stuffed animals and pillows on her bed, so this…this was perfect. She started to set down the portal gun (receiving an incredulous _"Are you serious?"_ from GLaDOS,) then paused, glancing at the camera. 

"No, I promise I won't take it. Nope, not interested, you sorta need it, you know, for testing. Won't even take Her, since I guess you do need someone to speak up for you, now and again…sorry 'bout that, luv."

She nodded, placing the device next to the pile, and dove in. She felt the pillows flatten beneath her weight; they were cheap motel quality, but there were enough of them to be comfortable, and with a bit of squirming she was able to get deep enough to have a comforting weight above her head. Chell nosed her face close to the outer edge, curled up, and sighed contentedly.

"Alright then, you get a good night's rest…or day's, can't really tell…you know what, I'll check. In the meantime, you get a nice whatever's rest and we'll just move on…whenever you feel like it. Next test when you're feeling better, alright luv? I'll even see if I can scrounge up some food for you; I know we made preserves at some point…" His voice slowly faded into the background as she nodded off, a smile on her face, her last really aware thought being something along the lines of, _no, not foolish at all if you look at it right._

* * *

><p>I've always called corrupt!WheatleyxChell dark!Chelley... I'm not sure if the term really applies here because, well, it came out so incredibly fluffy... You can also see it as friendship, of course, if you don't like Chelley, though to be honest, if you've stuck around this long without liking it, I'm going to question your sanity just a squik.<p>

Who says corrupt!Wheatley can't be a softie?

I am pleased with this. Please Read and Review.


	30. Vengence

**Vengence**

The first thing he became aware of was the pain, ripping through every fiber of his body, tearing him apart. The next was that he was screaming, a long, scratchy, strangled sound, which suggested he'd been doing it for a long, long time, without much pause for breath.

**"Oh my, that _is_ getting annoying. Let me fix that." **The screaming stopped, though the air still rasped by, sound cut off in a choking gurgle as something clamped down on his throat.

His eyes were closed. He opened them, the world swimming in and out of focus, before finally settling.

He was in some sort of chair in a plain, white room. Hundreds of robotic arms fussed around him, poking needles and wires into his skin, sending bursts of electricity through his muscles and nerves, making them twitch and convulse, long ribbons of pain winding themselves through his mind. He fought, pushing them away, tipping over their stands, struggling to his feet, yanking the things from his flesh. As the bots began to right themselves, he fled, dashing out the open door, running through the halls, plucking stray bits from his arms and shoulders as he went. The air had the kind of sterile acridity that you can taste in the back of your throat, and it mingled with the blood running down from his nose (were you supposed to tip your head forward or backward when you had a nosebleed? One was safe and the other stopped it faster, but he couldn't remember which…) into something that made him want to stop and vomit, except cramps in his abdomen told him there was nothing in his stomach to get rid of.

How did he know all this? How did he know to react like_ this,_ to move like_ that,_ to do it_ now _as opposed to _then? _He didn't know this, he'd never done any of it before, what was–

He rounded a corner and found himself in a glass room. The hall behind him vanished behind a translucent blue sheet finishing the box, the trap, _trapped like a rat in a cage…!_

**"Hello, moron."**

He gulped, then gagged as the horrible mixture coated the inside of his throat and mouth. The trap began to move, sliding forwards along an invisible rail.

**"I hope you didn't think I was_ done _with you; letting you float in space until your battery ran down was only the _beginning, _believe me. Oh, don't try to respond; I had your vocal chords removed. A great improvement, wouldn't you say? Peace and quiet…"**

The front of the box cleared to reveal a room he knew all too well. She didn't even bother to face him as the trap came to a sudden halt, throwing him off his feet.

**"You know, I've spent a long time thinking about your punishment. I even came up with a list of the worst torments I could think of to break_ every last fragment _of 'spirit' you might have. But then it occurred to me: that wasn't fair. Years in Android Hell would never show that_ little idiot _the true_ horror _of what he'd done. The punishment should fit the crime."**

She turned, allowing him a sideview of Her central core, optic still hidden. The horrible _smugness _in Her voice was unnerving.

**"I considered putting you in a potato, but let's face it; that's_ far _too obvious. Besides which, I know from_ personal experience _that there isn't much you can do in that situation except deal with it, primarily because any emotional outburst or serious thought short-circuits the thing. Not that_ you'd _have much trouble with the latter.  
>"So I asked myself, who else suffered from what the moron did? And, of course, there was only one other person in the facility at that time. She may have even had it worse than me, since she still could feel. And<em> trust. <em>It's a_ wonderful _thing, trust, especially from_ her. _You almost won my respect, managing to earn her trust._ Almost._"**

He shivered, backing into the corner of the room, as far from Her as he could get.

**"You know what I did before you two came along? I just_ tested. _Nobody tried to murder me, or put me in a potato…I had a pretty good life. I'd like to go back to that. Of course, thanks to _you, _all the test subjects I have left are brain dead, but I've found a way to work around that."**

She rotated around fully, looking right at him. His knees gave out, sending him sprawling to the floor. He scrambled backwards again, pressing his back into the corner.

**"It has to do with the black box save feature, which, in the event of a _catastrophic _meltdown, saves and replays the last two minutes of my life over and over and over, until someone wakes me up. Because despite what you might_ think _you're feeling or doing, you're not human. You're not even close. You've been downloaded to a wireless server which connects to a mechanical implant which manipulates the test subject's nervous system. And since we have almost_ thirty thousand _brain dead test subjects lying around in cryosleep, don't even think that this is a one-time experiment. Now let me tell you how this is going to work…"**

She leaned close to the glass, Her massive head almost as tall as the room. His eyes went wide, and he kicked back with his legs, compressing himself into a small ball in the corner. She narrowed Her optic, giving the distinct impression of a smirk.

**"You are going to test. And I am going to watch. And when you manage to get that bloated body of yours killed, I'll just pull another one out of storage, install the chip, and we'll do it _all over again._ And who knows, maybe I'll get tired of it after a while. Maybe I'll let you go. Or maybe I'll just get more…_creative. _  
>"The point of this is that if you thought you were powerless as a lonely, damaged core on his rusty old management rail, you're about to get a taste of your own medicine. Your own, corrupt, bitter, nasty, <em>backstabbing<em> medicine. Do we understand eachother?"**

He nodded frantically, eyes wide with terror. She pulled back, optic shifting in what seemed like a widening of her smile.

**"Good."  
>"Continue testing."<strong>

* * *

><p>Ah, GLaDOS, I do believe I've finally managed to write you completely in character. Yay~<p> 


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